Bulletproof
by campingwiththecharmings
Summary: (CS vigilante AU) You'd think a city with a name like 'Storybrooke' would be a happier place, and maybe it used to be, but these days greed, corruption, and injustice are what make her tick. There are no happy endings here, not anymore. Emma Nolan is fighting to bring them back.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **This idea has been ratting around in my brain for literally months. It was more or less inspired by the TV show Arrow and, to some extent, Batman (because Batman is awesome, okay). Anyway, here's to hoping I can pull this off lol.

(Un-beta'ed)

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><p>Emma Nolan crouched near the edge of the building as she carefully surveyed the surrounding area. The man she'd been tasked to apprehend had given her the slip three times already that evening and she was, to say the least, aggravated. She hated tracking marks through this ramshackle part of the city; too many places to hide. Several years prior, there had been a particularly devastating earthquake that had resulted in the area being cordoned off with the <em>intention<em> of a government-funded reconstruction but, naturally, the deal had fallen through. This resulted in several blocks of abandoned buildings and hundreds of displaced people. The area (referred to by most as the Ruins) had since been reopened and had been unofficially "claimed" by the thieves and lowlifes of the city, including one Ignotus Gold, the city's most ruthless (and untouchable) crime boss.

Needless to say, this was no place for a cop.

_Not that one would ever come here in the first place_, she thought in mild annoyance.

_No one other than you, that is_, reminded a voice in the back of her mind.

Emma wasn't the typical Storybrooke police officer. Save for a handful, most were in Gold's pocket, making justice in this city mean something other than what Emma had been raised to believe. Her older brother David was the Captain of her precinct and while she knew he would rather die than work for someone like Gold, she also knew how things in this city worked, had seen it unfold before her very eyes during her few years with SBPD. David carefully straddled the line between right and wrong and she knew that there had to have been times where he'd, for whatever reason, chosen to look the other way.

Perhaps it made her naïve or idealistic, but Emma wasn't about to let someone guilty walk free.

Not after what had happened to her mother.

It was these convictions that resulted in Emma's presence in the Ruins this evening.

"I don't see him, Jones, are you sure he went this way," she quietly asked her partner (who was currently three blocks south of her in their non-descript surveillance van).

"_Of _course_, I'm sure, Swan. When have I ever steered you wrong?_" Jones responded defensively.

"I told you not to call me that," Emma replied gruffly, ignoring his question entirely.

She registered the sound of computer keys clicking as he retorted, "_Ah, but it suits you so well. I've yet to see anyone kick someone's arse as gracefully as you manage to._"

Emma rolled her eyes but said nothing, instead choosing to carefully scan the street for their target once more.

"Yeah, well, it makes it sound like I'm some kind of, I don't know, superhero or something. I hate it," she replied petulantly.

"_I think the black, leather get up and the mask do that all on their own, love,_" Jones answered with a chuckle, still typing away.

Emma was about to reply back with a witty quip, when a sudden movement in the alley across the street made her pause.

_Gotcha_, she thought with a smirk as she moved back from the lip of the building to the ladder that lead below and began to climb down.

"Target reacquired," she whispered into her ear piece as she silently made her descent, "Prepare to standby."

"_Be careful, Swan_," Jones cautioned, his lilting voice laced with a gentleness he seemed to reserve just for her.

"Always am," she said quietly, ignoring her butterflies (that were most definitely due to her current situation and most certainly did _not _have anything to do with her partner).

When she'd reached the ground, Emma checked her belt for her handcuffs, thankful that she hadn't left them in the van as she had on their last job. Readying herself, she crept to the edge of the passage, allowing the shadows to cover her as she set her sights on the man across from her; he was tall, of lean build, with reddish-brown hair and blue eyes. His name was August Booth. He'd been arrested a year ago on a kidnapping charge but, at the time, the evidence the detectives had against him was somehow "lost" on its way to the property room; they'd been forced to let him walk. Hours after his release, he'd disappeared and hadn't been seen since.

Until now.

She watched as Booth nervously fidgeted in his hiding place and when he turned away from her, Emma seized her chance. She darted suddenly from her place in the shadows, her eyes locked on Booth. She wove herself around the few obstacles in her path (mostly debris that was never cleared after the earthquake) and was almost on him when he turned again, spotted her, and took off down the alleyway.

_Not again, you bastard_, she thought resolutely_._

She followed as he shot around the back of a building and made a beeline for him as he clambered up a nearby ladder, Emma hot on his heels. She scrambled up as quickly as she could, watching as he scrabbled over the edge of the building when he reached the top. Emma grumbled to herself and prepared for the ambush she was sure to receive when she reached the top.

The second her head cleared the top of the ladder, she knew she was right to assume the worst as she was greeted with the sight of Booth breathing heavily and wielding a pipe he'd presumably found discarded on the roof. He swung the pipe at her seconds later, giving Emma almost no time to duck away. Luckily she'd still had both hands on the railings and managed to steady herself when her boot-clad feet slipped off the rungs in her haste to not be bludgeoned to death.

She must've screamed, because suddenly Jones' frantic voice was filtering through her ear piece, "_Emma, are you alright?_"

"I'm fine," she said breathlessly after steading herself, "Just a bit startled."

Jones didn't reply as Emma started up the ladder again, this time arming herself with one of the expandable batons she occasionally brought on missions (normally she just used her fists but you could never be too careful). Booth came at her again when she reached the top but Emma was ready for him, blocking his hit with the baton in her right hand. She missed the look of mild surprise on his face as she used the rod to shove his pipe away from herself. Booth stumbled back as he lost his balance and Emma, seizing what might very well be her only chance, hastened up the rest of the ladder and onto the roof, now brandishing both of her batons.

Time seemed to slow, if not come to a halt completely, as they faced each other, respective weapons at the ready.

"Finally ready to stop running, Booth?" she asked calmly, prepared for any sudden moves on his part.

Emma watched as Booth studied her, clearly caught off guard by her ensemble.

"You're her," he responded, voice laced with disbelief.

"Yep," Emma said, quirking an eyebrow at him, "And I'm going to need you to come with me."

This seemed to shake him out of whatever awe her appearance had set upon him, his shocked expression transforming into his usual cocky one as his eyes scanned her from head to toe.

"You're not a cop," he stated simply as he studied her.

"_Not tonight, anyway_," said an amused Jones, causing Emma to smirk.

"No, I'm not. Hence the mask," she replied sarcastically while gesturing toward her face.

Returning her smirk with one of his own, Booth cocked his head, twirled the pipe he still held in his hand and said, "Well then, I don't have to do anything you say, do I?"

"No, you don't," she agreed as she threateningly twirled her batons, "But it'd be in your best interest if you did."

He inched toward her slightly, smirk still planted on his handsome face, "Yeah? Why's that?"

Emma's eyes flashed at his taunt, "Trust me when I tell you, you don't want to find out."

Apparently that was all Booth had needed to hear as he chose that moment to make his attack. He moved toward her suddenly in an attempt to catch her off guard, his weapon at the ready. In lieu of deflecting his blow as she had before, Emma simply took a step back. He mirrored her steps and made to attack her again, clearly aggravated that she wasn't fighting back. Emma wasn't averse to fighting (she rather enjoyed it, truth be told, hence the vigilante act) but this guy had already outsmarted her more than once and she didn't fancy the idea of fighting him blindly. So, she bided her time, studied him (and the fact that his anger was causing his moves to become sloppy was also a plus).

A few more checks and Emma decided that she'd seen enough.

When he came at her again, he'd aimed the sharp side of his pipe at her midsection (admittedly a much larger target than her head). Emma caught his weapon between her crossed batons before quickly twisting it away from herself. She used the rod in her left hand to whack him on the ear (pain was always an effective distraction) and then used the one in her right to smack the hand clenched around the pipe. Booth dropped it on reflex and she wasted no time kicking it out of his reach. Before he could recover, Emma threw her shoulder into him, hitting him in the chest, and used her body weight to knock him to the ground. Once down, she quickly grabbed his right arm and dug her foot into his neck in an effort to keep him subdued.

"I told you that you didn't want to find out," she said, twisting his arm enough for it to be painful but not enough to break it.

Booth howled in pain as he futilely attempted to push her off with his free arm. Emma dug her boot into his neck a bit more as a warning. The move stymied his cries of pain (as well as his useless flailing) long enough for her to crouch down and cuff him. Once bound, she allowed his arms to drop but kept her foot on him as a precaution.

"Got him," she panted as she caught her breath, "Let's make this drop and head home."

How Emma got him down the ladder without both of them falling to their deaths, she would never know but ten minutes later, there she was trying to stuff him (now blindfolded) into the back of hers and Jones' van.

"Need a little help, Swan?" Jones asked as he casually leaned against the side of the van, amusement lacing his tone.

Emma glared wordlessly at him as she tried once more to shove Booth into the vehicle. Jones chuckled and strutted toward her.

"Alright, alright, no need to beg," he teased, waving her off before he roughly grabbed Booth by the hair and pulled his head back. Emma threw him another glare as the action caused the man to yelp in pain.

"What the hell are you doing, we're trying to be stealthy here," she scolded, moving toward him, "_This_ is why you're banished to the van."

Jones huffed a laugh and smirked at her, "No, love, I'm 'banished' to the van because I'm the only one that can hack into the security feeds."

The glare she threw in response caused Jones' smirk to widen. Emma rolled her eyes and motioned toward the open (and still empty) van. "Let's take this show on the road, shall we?"

Chortling in victory, Jones shoved Booth toward the open doors and watched gleefully as he tripped and fell inside with an "oomph" before quickly shutting the doors. Smirk intact, he turned toward Emma and raised an eyebrow.

"Was that really necessary, Killian?" she asked, her jaw clenched, hands finding her hips.

"Aw, you're no fun, Swan," he responded, his handsome face contorting into an overly dramatic pout, "Why should you be the only one that gets to indulge in a spot of violence?"

They stared at each other wordlessly for a moment before the phone in Killian's pocket vibrated loudly, effectively disrupting the moment.

Emma sighed and pulled a hand through her hair, averting her gaze as Jones pulled out his phone.

"It's a text from Red," he said simply, throwing her a glance.

Emma nodded and made her way to the driver's side of the van. When she and Killian were both situated, Emma shifted the van into drive and silently steered the vehicle toward their drop point (the Toll Bridge on the north side of the city).

Red was already waiting for them when they arrived. Emma quickly checked to make sure her mask was still in place before she turned to Killian in the passenger seat.

"Stay."

Killian threw her an aggravated look, "I'm not a bloody dog, Swan."

Emma only raised an eyebrow at him before she opened the door and exited the van. She made quick work of getting Booth out and hauling him over to Red's black, generic SUV. As she neared, the back right window rolled down to reveal the woman herself. Ruby Lucas (nicknamed "The Big Bad Wolf" by the papers) was Storybrooke's toughest prosecutor. She was clever, beautiful, and _ruthless_. Ruby was the only attorney in the entire city with the guts to take on Gold and his thugs, so she and Emma (or rather, "The Black Swan," as the papers called _her_) made an arrangement: Emma would help Ruby track down evidence or witnesses (such as slime bags like Booth) that she needed for some of her tougher cases and in exchange, Ruby would help Emma take down Gold when the time came (that time being when she had the evidence she needed).

"You're late," Red said flatly.

"Apologies, he put up more of a fight than I had anticipated," Emma replied sharply.

She and Red momentarily shared a wordless look before the latter broke away and instructed the man in the passenger seat to help with "the package."

Fifteen minutes later, Emma watched as Red's car drove off into the darkness. She sighed in relief and walked back to the van.

"Just another day in paradise," Emma muttered cynically as she sat down in the driver's seat and took off her mask.

"We'll get there, Swan," Killian said softly.

Emma regarded him from beneath her lashes as she fiddled with the strap on the mask. He had _that look_, the one he got when he was reliving some deep, dark part of his past. He must've been thinking about her, the woman he'd lost, _Milah_. Emma could practically feel the sorrow rolling off of him.

"We will, Killian," she said finally, looking him straight in the eye with all the conviction she could muster, "_I promise_."

Killian smiled and nodded, scratching the space behind his ear (something she knew he did when he was feeling uneasy).

"What's say we get home, yeah?" Killian said, stealing a glance at his watch, "I don't know about you, but my shift starts bright and early in, oh look at that, three hours."

Emma chuckled and started the engine.

"Please, you IT nerds have much more forgiving schedules than us officers," she teased, pulling their van away from the bridge.

"Us IT 'nerds' make your job a hell of a lot easier and you know it," Killian retorted playfully.

"Yeah, yeah," Emma said airily, steering the van out of the Ruins and toward the heart of the city.

Twenty minutes later, their van was parked and covered in a parking garage down the road from their base in the abandoned Storybrooke clock tower and Killian and Emma, now in street clothes, were walking down the sidewalk toward her car.

"You did good tonight, Swan," Killian said, affectionately nudging her shoulder with his fist.

"Aw, thanks, Jones," Emma replied facetiously, "As usual I couldn't have done it without you and your awesome van-sitting skills."

Killian smiled and rolled his eyes at her, a serious look crossing his face suddenly, "Very funny. I mean it, though, you really held your own. It's been a while since you went on a job without Mary Margaret as back up. I only wish I could help you the way she does."

Emma stopped walking and turned to him, "I don't need you be Mary Margaret, Killian," she began sincerely, "I need you to be…well, _you_. I know I make a lot of jokes, but you really are a valuable member of this team, and for more than just your tech skills. You do know that, don't you?"

Killian's face was unreadable as his eyes searched her face (for what, she didn't know, but she hoped he found it).

"I do know that, Swan, and I'm happy to help in any way I can but…_you_ know that the team isn't the only reason I'm still here, right? It might've started out that way but there's something…else now. Something _more_." Killian averted his gaze momentary and began to fidget. He swallowed and earnestly met her eyes, "Do you understand what I'm saying, Emma?"

Emma wordlessly held his gaze, struggling to keep her face as impassive as possible (because she _did_ know what he was saying, and God help her, she wasn't ready to acknowledge it out loud just yet).

"I should get home," she said finally, leaving his question unanswered.

Disappointment clouded Killian's features as he tore his gaze from hers and nodded. "'Course, Swan," he said softly, "Drive safe."

"I'll see you in a few hours, Jones," she said, forcing a lightness into her tone that she didn't feel.

Killian smiled solemnly, clearly not fooled, "Sure thing. Good night, Emma."

"'Night, Killian."

Emma sat in her car for a moment and watched Killian turn and walk away in her side mirror. She scrubbed her hands tiredly over her face and sighed. She could admit to herself in the quietness of her mind that there was _something_ between her and Killian but until their job was done, until Gold was brought to justice for his crimes, Emma couldn't bring herself to let anything compromise their mission. With that thought, she started her car and began her drive home.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** These first few pages are back story (sorry), I tried to keep it brief so I do hope it's not boring lol.

(Un-beta'ed)

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><p><em>THEN<em>

She remembers the day her mother was murdered as clearly as if it had happened yesterday; she remembers what she was wearing, who she was with, where she was, remembers the look on her brother's face when he'd told her the news. She remembers how angry she'd felt in the months that followed, remembers how she'd let that anger consume her, how she'd let it alienate her from her friends (they just didn't _get it_, you know?).

She'd been sixteen at the time, in the midst of her high school career. Her biggest worries that day had been whether or not her crush was going to ask her to prom and passing the final exam in her French class.

Her mother, Ruth, had been a teacher at one of the most prestigious (and, therefore, highly selective) private schools in the state: Ivory Tower Academy. She and her brother David had attended the local public high school, Storybrooke High, and Emma had honestly never wished to be elsewhere (those Tower kids were too high and mighty for her taste). Ruth had been a wonderful teacher, though; she'd taught her students with care, she'd made sure that they understood what they were learning, made sure they had someone to listen if they needed it, or a shoulder to cry on. She'd taught at Tower for five years prior to her murder and had grown close to many of her students along the way.

Emma remembers how packed the church had been on the day of her mother's funeral and the thought that she had touched so many lives still brought a smile to her face.

That is, until she remembers _how_ her mother died.

She'd bled to death in an alley. _Alone_.

All from a single stab wound to the abdomen. Her murderer was never found and, even now, the SBPD had zero leads.

David had just graduated from college when it'd happened. He'd always dreamed of working for the FBI and was on his way to D.C. for a job interview with his shiny new degree.

He'd never even gotten the chance to pack.

In the end, he'd chosen to stay in Storybrooke, mostly for her sake; she was one year away from graduating from high school and he hadn't wanted to uproot her (losing her mother had been enough of a shock for both of them). So, he'd joined the Storybrooke Police Department and had worked his way up the ranks. Between her brother and what had happened to her mother, it made sense for Emma to follow in David's footsteps.

Emma had always been a good student (having a teacher for a mother tended to have that side effect) but having a career goal had made her more determined than ever. She'd worked her ass off during her final year of high school and ended up receiving a full ride at one of the local universities. She studied Criminal Justice (just as her brother had) and joined the SBPD shortly after graduation.

Unfortunately for Emma, being a cop wasn't everything she'd thought it was going to be (in fact, it was pretty much _nothing_ like she'd thought it would be). Her first day had probably been the biggest let down of all, to be honest. She had woken up early that morning, too excited to sleep. She'd carefully put on each piece of her uniform (she can still recall that new, freshly pressed polyester smell), allowing herself a small smile when she'd finally looked in the mirror. She knew going in that she was probably going to get stuck on the crap shifts with the crap jobs (the hazards of being a rookie), but the thought of working her way up had only thrilled her more.

_God_, she'd been so _proud_, so _excited_ (so _naïve_).

She realized rather quickly that the Storybrooke officers who were actually concerned with "serving and protecting" were in the minority. She'd been in the precinct break room having a coffee break when she'd overheard two senior officers talking. Initially she'd chalked it up to cynicism (it happens when you're constantly exposed to the worst of humanity), but when the perp they'd brought in only hours before "mysteriously" escaped from one of the holding cells, Emma suspected foul play. It happened again and again and eventually Emma became discouraged; this wasn't what she'd signed up for.

That's when it had started.

Her third month at the precinct, she'd been banished to organize the records room when the usual clerk was fired for failing to show up for an entire week and had stumbled across a box of cold cases; her mother's had been among them. Emma had spent hours in that small, dank room that night, reading page after page of her mother's file. She'd come back every day that she could after that night, pouring over her mother's case, determined to figure out what had been overlooked.

Within a few weeks, she'd begun to spend most of her free time in the records room, looking at other cases as well as continuing to examine her mother's; that's when she'd noticed the discrepancies. In so many of them, there were leads that hadn't been followed by the detectives in charge of the investigations, witness statements that either hadn't been taken seriously or were written off immediately, even evidence that had gone missing on its way to the precinct from the crime scene. The cases that really stood out to her, though, were the ones where the cause of death had been the same; a single stab wound to the abdomen, just like her mother.

Emma almost couldn't believe it when she'd seen how many cases had this connection; how had no one noticed this before? She'd found cases as far back as fifteen years prior with the same M.O. and Emma suspected that the unfollowed leads and missing evidence weren't a coincidence; someone had _wanted_ these murders to remain unsolved and had gone through a lot of trouble to make sure they did. But why?

She'd brought all of this to David's attention, assuming he would help her. Emma barely made it through her findings before he was snapping at her to drop it, telling her it was "too dangerous, just let it go, Emma." She'd been shocked, to say the least; if there was anyone Emma had always been able to count on, it was her brother. She knew his concern was mostly for her safety and Emma appreciated that, she really did, but all Emma could think of was the people like her; the families of the murder victims, the families that didn't know who had killed their loved ones or why. She wanted closure for them and for herself, felt that they deserved at _least_ that. Despite her own strong feelings, however, she'd tried to do as David had asked (though, it hadn't stopped her from continuing her investigations).

Emma tried to keep her snooping discreet, knowing that those dangerous people David was worried about were closer than he seemed to realize. Initially she'd kept to herself, observing everyone and everything as she tried to gauge who she could trust. She'd befriended Mary Margaret not long after that; her responsibilities as the precinct's secretary gave her access to information about basically every officer (as well as any cases they were working on) and anyone (cop or criminal alike) that walked through those front doors. Mary Margaret's warmth and sincerity had pierced Emma's defenses, though, and while their friendship had started as a way for her to simply get information, it quickly evolved into something real; they'd spend their days off together window shopping or binge watching tv shows at her apartment and before Emma knew it, she was telling Mary Margaret her deepest, darkest secrets. As it turned out, Mary Margaret had shared her suspicions. Emma had revealed her findings to Mary Margaret then, relieved to finally have an ally in this crusade she'd inadvertently stumbled into. After that, any day off they had together was spent delving into the murders that had mirrored her mother's.

Mary Margaret had been the one to discover an even larger connection between those murders; one Ignotus Gold. Every single stab victim (save for her mother) had been either an employee of one company or another that was owned by Gold or a known associate. It had all made sense to Emma then; of _course_ those murders were unsolved, Gold was Storybrooke's richest and most powerful crime boss, he'd probably paid someone to take those people out.

Now all they needed was proof.

Emma had tried the legitimate routes at first, had tried to set up formal, police sanctioned inquiries with Gold and his ridiculous amount of lawyers but, unsurprisingly, the man was untouchable. Within a few days, her apartment had been burglarized. It was a warning. A warning to do as her brother had told her months ago and "drop it." A warning to show her what Gold and his cronies were capable of, that if she kept digging, they'd make her pay in worse ways. She'd realized then that Gold had too much power, too many friends in high places, and trying to go through the legal channels wasn't going to do anything but get her killed. She'd pulled back after that, kept the cards she had left to play close to the vest, and waited; she still had every intention of taking Gold down, but this time, she was going to be smarter with her approach ("to catch a criminal, you sometimes have to think like one," Mary Margaret had told her).

As far as Gold or anyone else knew, however, she'd moved on. She'd thrown herself into every job her superiors had given her, worked harder than any other officer at her level, and eventually began to garner more responsibility. Mary Margaret continued her duties as well and, much to Emma's surprise, started dating David (who was well on his way to becoming Captain).

Killian Jones had shown up almost a year after Emma joined the SBPD. Emma would be lying if she said she hadn't noticed him immediately (not that she'd ever admit it to anyone other than herself). She'd observed him from afar initially, which was easy considering they were in two completely different departments. Mary Margaret had actually been the reason that they were even introduced in the first place as he'd shown up to fix something on her computer when she and Emma had been chatting. He'd seemed friendly enough, granting her a warm smile and a handshake, but the look in his eyes had caused her breath to catch; there was a sadness in them that he was obviously trying to hide, a heaviness, one that Emma felt she could relate to. She'd kept a closer eye on him after that, though she never really could admit to herself why.

Another murder is what ultimately ended up throwing everything into motion. Albert Spencer, the city's former district attorney, was found on the floor of his high-end apartment in a puddle of his own blood; he'd been stabbed in the abdomen and left to bleed to death. When the lead detective on the case failed to procure any hard leads, Emma knew she had to do something. How many people had to die before Gold was brought to justice? She and Mary Margaret had put their heads together that night and came to the only conclusion they could; taking the law into their own hands was the only option they had left.

She'd begun spending every other night chasing bad guys in black leather and a mask shortly thereafter, Mary Margaret as her back up (turned out the woman was quite handy with a bow). They got off to a rough start initially; losing their marks mid-chase, twisting their ankles, almost getting hit by cars, having to explain the occasional black eye to David. But they trained, they studied, they became _better,_ and before long, they were a well-oiled machine. After a few months, the crime rate throughout the city even started to drop. That's when they'd met Ruby. She'd been new to the D.A.'s office at the time, but just as feisty as ever. To this day, Emma had no idea how she'd figured out how to reach them, but once she had, she'd proposed a deal; she'd told them about how she was planning on being the D.A. one day, told them that she wanted to help heal their city, just like the two of them were. She'd convinced them that they could help each other reach that goal, and thus an alliance was born.

It was one of Ruby's cases that had resulted in Killian joining their team. Emma had needed his help hacking into some scumbag they were trying to track down's email account. She'd tried to tell him that it was an ex-boyfriend she wanted to get back at, but he'd seen right through her ("You're something of an open book"). Once he'd figured out she was trying to play him, he'd refused to help her unless she told him what she was really up to. Seeing no alternative, she told him as little as possible. He'd known there was more, but had accepted her explanation in exchange for his help. But it hadn't stopped him from following her. In retrospect, Emma probably should've seen it coming (Jones wasn't stupid, after all), but she'd been tired that night and had just wanted to go home so she wasn't as careful with her route as she probably ought to have been. She and Mary Margaret had been stashing their equipment in Storybrooke's abandoned clock tower for months, it had become something of a makeshift base for the two of them, and she'd led Killian right to it.

They'd told him everything after that (it wasn't like he hadn't heard the rumors of the vigilantes running around the city, he _did_ work at a police station). Once he'd discovered that their ultimate goal was to take down Gold, he'd all but demanded to join them. Ever the optimist, Mary Margaret was all for him joining them and between the hope in her eyes and the determination in Killian's, Emma couldn't bring herself to tell him no. They grew to rely on each other in the years that followed, grew closer as a team and, more importantly, as a family.

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><p><em>NOW<em>

Emma pushed through the front doors of the precinct in her white blouse, black dress slacks, and modest heels, her blonde hair cinched in a high ponytail. She took a quick sip from the coffee cup in her hand as she made her way to the front desk where her best friend Mary Margaret was seated.

"Hey, you," Mary Margaret greeted with a soft smile, shuffling some of the papers on her desk.

Emma sighed and tiredly returned her friend's smile as she mumbled, "Hey, yourself."

Mary Margaret's smile widened at the blonde's weary tone. "Long night?" she inquired innocently.

Emma huffed a laugh. "You know it," she replied, plopping down in the chair beside Mary Margaret's desk.

"Hot date?" Mary Margaret asked, her eyes full of mirth.

"Oh, yeah. Was on him practically all night," Emma retorted dryly before taking another sip of her coffee.

Mary Margaret stifled a snort and leaned her sweater-covered elbows on her desk. "I thought you liked the fighters."

"Not when I have an early shift the next morning, I don't," she answered, setting her cup on the desk and shifting in the chair to cross her legs.

Mary Margaret made a noise of understanding and glanced quickly around them to see if anyone was listening. "So, you got him then?" she whispered, leaning closer to Emma.

Emma nodded and smiled. "Yep," she confirmed lowly, "Handed him off to Red and everything."

The brunette returned her smile and placed her warm hand on Emma's forearm. "See, you did just _fine_ without me."

"Mary Margaret, please," she said jokingly, rolling her eyes, "We've been doing this for three years now. Last night was not the first time I've caught a target without you."

"I know, I know," Mary Margaret answered, looking away from Emma for a moment as she distractedly adjusted her soft pink blouse, "But you seemed a bit worried yesterday…I just wanted to reassure you."

Emma stiffened as she bit her lip and averted her gaze. "That's not what I was worried about and you know it," she muttered stoically.

There was silence between them for a moment as Emma stared resolutely at the surface of Mary Margaret's desk.

"I know," she said softly, taking Emma's hand in hers.

Emma swallowed and met the other woman's kind eyes. "You…didn't talk about to him about it?" Mary Margaret asked hesitantly.

Emma shook her head and sighed. "Wasn't exactly the right time."

"Emma," Mary Margaret began, concern lacing her voice.

"_I know_," she interrupted, her tone firm.

Mary Margaret nodded and squeezed Emma's hand comfortingly. "It's almost six," she said, glancing at the clock on the wall, "Better get in there, you know how the Captain is when someone's late to his briefings."

"A pain in the ass is what he is," she chuckled, grateful for the change of subject.

"Hey, now," Mary Margaret teased, holding up an admonishing finger, "That pain in the ass is my future husband."

Emma responded with a laugh and rose from her chair. "Yeah, and he's my _brother_. I can call him whatever I want." She grabbed her coffee cup and looked down at Mary Margaret, "Lunch?"

"Lunch," she agreed, nodding and throwing her a smile.

Emma returned her nod and wordlessly waved goodbye before making her way toward the detective's bullpen. She wasn't a detective _yet_, still technically "in training," but she was official enough to get her very own desk (thanks in large part to her immediate superior, and mentor, Detective Graham Humbert). She removed the briefcase slung over her shoulder and laid it on the desk before she pulled out her chair and sat. The cheap, faux leather material squeaked as she shifted around in search of a comfortable position and turned toward her desk. Emma unzipped her briefcase and began pulling out various files and loose documents and setting them on the corner of her desk.

"Good morning, Emma," hailed an accented voice to her left.

Emma smiled to herself briefly and took another sip of her coffee before turning her chair and nodding toward the voice. "Detective Humbert."

"So informal," he quipped, shaking his head as he ambled over to her, "I thought we discussed this."

Emma rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "So sorry, _Graham_."

Graham sighed melodramatically and stopped a few feet from her desk. "There, was that so hard?"

She smiled amusedly and raised an eyebrow. "Whatcha got there, boss?" she questioned, redirecting her line of sight to indicate file in his hands.

"This," he began, before holding the folder out to her, "Is your homework."

"_Homework_?" she whined, pouting childishly at him.

"Yes," Graham laughed, placing the file on her desk when she didn't take it from him, "A bit of light reading."

"Yeah, right," Emma scoffed, petulantly stuffing the folder into her briefcase so she didn't forget it later.

"Okay, people, eyes on me," a voice suddenly commanded from the front of the room.

"Duty calls," Graham said, gesturing for her to follow him as he made his way toward the Captain's office where David stood, a crowd of officers and detectives amassing around him.

David began his spiel, going over all the current open cases and dismissing people here and there once he'd received sufficient updates.

"Jones?" he called suddenly, craning his neck as he looked around the room in search of the Englishman.

"Sir," Emma stiffened slightly as Killian's lilting voice answered from almost directly behind her.

"Have you made any headway with the evidence from the Kurt Flynn case?" David asked.

"Yes, Captain," he responded obligingly, "I should have a full work up within the next few days."

"Good, good," David replied, nodding distractedly. "Humbert and Nolan, in my office, please. Everyone else can get back to work."

Emma swallowed nervously as she followed Graham into David's office, the feeling of Killian's eyes on her back causing her stomach to flip. David closed the door behind her as they filed in and stood before his desk.

"First thing's first," he began, striding to the other side of his desk and picking up the manila folder sitting in the center, "How's your training going?"

"Very well, Captain. Emma has shown great progress during my time with her." Graham answered, his arms clasped behind his back.

A soft smile crossed David's face as his eyes flicked briefly to hers; Emma felt her face warm slightly at the obvious pride in her brother's eyes. "That's wonderful to hear. How close would you say she is to being ready to take the detective exam?"

Emma bit her lip nervously and threw a tentative glance at her mentor.

"Honestly? She was probably ready before I even started training her," he replied matter-of-factly, shooting a proud smile in her direction.

Emma returned his smile almost bashfully, joy swelling inside her.

David nodded and turned his attention toward her, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "What about you, Emma? Do you think you're ready?"

Emma straightened her posture and nodded confidently. "Yes, Sir, I do."

"Very well," he replied, a full smile spreading across his charming face, "Detective Humbert will set that up for you later today."

Emma and Graham both nodded in acknowledgement as David handed the folder in his grasp to the Irishman.

"Now that we've settled that matter, here's your next case," he told them simply as Graham leafed through the documents in the folder. "Any questions?"

Graham shook his head and handed the folder to Emma, "No, Sir."

"Very well. You're both dismissed," responded David, moving to sit in his desk chair.

Emma looked over the reports in the folder as she followed Graham out of the Captain's office. Another homicide; Caucasian male in his early to mid-thirties, found dead in his apartment. Emma's breath caught in her throat as she read the cause of death; he'd bled to death after being stabbed in the abdomen.

Graham's voice suddenly wrenched her from her thoughts. "I can't believe you're already taking the exam," he began airily, nudging her playfully with his shoulder, "You're going to get that shield and forget all about little old me, aren't you?"

Emma emitted a shaky laugh and closed the folder in her grasp. "Like you'd ever _let_ me forget about you, Humbert."

The other officer laughed and clapped a hand on her shoulder, "I really am proud of you, Emma. You're going to make one hell of a detective. Those bad guys don't stand a chance."

Emma rolled her eyes and smacked his arm with the folder. "Stop it, you're making me blush," she said sarcastically, stopping in the front of her desk.

"Alright, alright, enough of that," he retorted, waving a hand at her, "I need to go pick up a few things down stairs before we head to the scene so meet me at the car in about fifteen."

Emma nodded and watched him walk away. She stood at her desk momentarily, biting her lip pensively when someone shuffled up behind her.

"Fancy meeting you here, Swan," Killian whispered throatily, so close his chest brushed against her arm.

Emma jolted in surprise, sighing in annoyance when the sound of his amused chuckle reached her ears. She turned herself toward him, intent on sending a harsh glare in his direction and realized too late how close he was standing. She scoffed and backed up a few steps, her legs hitting the drawers of her desk and impeding her progress.

"What the hell, Killian," she hissed, licking her lips nervously, "Does personal space mean nothing to you?"

Killian's eyes flickered briefly to her mouth as he stuffed his hands in the pocket of his slacks and laughed again. "I have no idea what you're talking about. This is a perfectly acceptable distance from which to converse."

Emma sent him a quick glare and crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you want, Jones?"

Killian raised an eyebrow and shifted his stance. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, I'm just—I'm supposed to be getting ready to leave for a crime scene," she responded, trying (and failing) not to notice the way his eyes were studying her.

"No," he said, shaking his head and taking a step closer to her, "There's something else. What is it? You know you can tell me anything, Emma."

The earnestness in his tone caused her to flood momentarily with guilt; this was _Killian_, for God's sake, they'd been through too much together and had seen so many sides of each other. Why was she letting this stupid _tension_ ruin everything between them?

Emma sighed in defeat and reached for the folder on her desk. She met his eyes as she handed it to him wordlessly.

Killian looked at her confusedly as he accepted the file and opened it. She watched his brow furrow in concentration as he read, his deep, blue eyes flitting rapidly across the page. His eyebrows were raising in surprise a few minutes later, his eyes quickly meeting hers once more in understanding.

"Another one," he muttered breathlessly. She said nothing and watched as his shock slowly morphed into anger. "We _have_ to end this, Emma."

"I know," she agreed, nodding numbly and placing the file down and leaning against the side of her desk.

Killian's eyes softened as he watched her, his anger melting away almost instantly. "Hey," he said, lifting her chin with his finger so she'd meet his gaze, "We'll get him. _You'll_ get him."

Emma swallowed thickly as she blinked away the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "Yeah," she replied with a sniff.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Killian said after a moment, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and making several swipes across the screen. He allowed a small smirk to grace his features before he turned the phone in her direction.

Emma snorted out a laugh when she saw the picture on his screen; a too-skinny, thirteen year old Killian Jones, decked out in his head gear and braces, complete with thick-framed glasses that looked far too big for his face.

"Oh my God, you poor thing," she snickered, taking the phone from him so she could take a closer look. "Tell me, do you usually keep embarrassing photos from your youth on your phone and show them to people?"

Killian scoffed and playfully snatched his phone back. "What's to be embarrassed about? I was _adorable_."

"Adorably _awkward_, maybe," Emma mumbled, her laughter abating.

"Also, no," he continued, stuffing his phone back into his pocket and adjusting the rolled up cuffs of his dress shirt, "I don't usually keep photos from my youth on hand, nor do I make a habit of showing them off. My brother was cleaning out one of his closets and came across some of our childhood photographs. Thought I'd get a kick out of this one in particular."

"Did he send any others?" she asked hopefully, biting back a smile at the thought of seeing more photos of a gangly, teenaged Killian.

Killian laughed and shot her an incredulous look. "_Others_? I think the one is quite enough, Emma. For now, at least."

She sent him an exaggerated pout of disappointment that made him roll his eyes. A companionable silence fell between them as they both sobered.

"Thanks, Killian," she said softly, slowly lifting her gaze to meet his.

Killian shot her a fond smile and nodded. "Anytime, Emma."

Suddenly, Graham's voice cut across the room. "_Detective_ Nolan, let's get a move on, shall we?"

"Yes, Sir," she called back, gathering her things and turning back to Killian, "See you later."

He nodded and watched her as she followed Graham out the back door before turning away and heading back to his department.

* * *

><p>Emma and Graham arrived at the crime scene twenty minutes later. By then, uniforms were filtering in and out of the shoddy apartment, rolling out the crime scene tape and putting down evidence markers, while others canvassed the building for witnesses. Emma and Graham split up upon entering the apartment, looking for any evidence that might indicate who had attacked their victim and why.<p>

Graham reached the victim's body before her and had managed to find a wallet with an ID; his name was Greg Mendell. When the M.E. arrived, his preliminary inspection confirmed the cause of death as the stab wound to the abdomen and placed the time of death sometime between late night and early morning. The forensics team showed up after that, dusting for prints and collecting the marked evidence. Graham had sent Emma back to the precinct to work on a few of the leads they'd discovered during their inspection about an hour later; so far she wasn't having any luck.

It was late afternoon when they finally received anything resembling a solid lead. A set of finger prints found at the scene had popped up in the system; they belonged to a woman named Tamara Cerveny. Cerveny was had been arrested in the past for various infractions (mostly theft and drug possession). It took them a few hours, but they'd managed to track her down and bring her in. Emma surveyed their suspect from the observation room.

Her first thought was that Cerveny didn't look at all like the criminals that usually sat where she was now. In fact, she looked the complete opposite; like a respected professional, neatly dressed in a gray pencil skirt, a light blue sleeveless blouse, and modest heels. The uniforms must've picked her up on her way home from work. Her second was of how striking she was; long dark hair, flawless brown skin, rich chestnut eyes that were wide with fear. This woman did have something of a checkered past, but she at least appeared to have pulled herself out of it, seemed to have gone on the "straight and narrow," as the saying goes. So how the hell did she get mixed up with the likes of Greg Mendell?

Graham wandered over, interrupting her perusal. "You ready?"

Emma nodded and followed him to door to the interrogation room. Graham was sending her in alone, allowing her to take the lead as he watched from the other side of the mirror. Emma gave herself a moment to collect her thoughts, put on her game face, and pushed open the door. The sudden noise caused Tamara to jolt in surprise upon her entry. Any trace of fear in her eyes was wiped away seconds later, however; she wasn't going to be any easy one to crack.

Emma slowly sauntered over to the table, her eyes trained on the file in her hands. She was trying to make her impatient (impatient people were quicker to anger, and angry people tended to let things slip).

"Ms. Cerveny," she began after a few minutes of silence, "Do you know why you're here?"

Emma placed the open file on the table in front of her and trained her gaze on their suspect. Tamara said nothing as she stared intently at an invisible spot on the table. Undeterred, Emma continued.

"You're here because your prints were found at the scene of a crime."

Emma paused, studying the woman before her for any tells that she knew what Emma was talking about.

"Is the name Greg Mendell familiar to you in any way?" she tried again, her eyes intent on Tamara's face.

Her mouth twitched in triumph as the woman's expression trembled slightly. _Now_ they were getting somewhere.

"You've got quite the rap sheet, Ms. Cerveny," she said, "Breaking and entering, armed robbery, embezzlement, assault…Was Mr. Mendell an associate of yours, perhaps?" she asked, knowing she wasn't going to receive a verbal response.

Tamara continued to remain silent as Emma rattled off a few more items from her record. Realizing her intimidation tactics were getting her nowhere, she decided to try something else: honesty.

"I'm going to be straight with you, Ms. Cerveny," Emma began, finally sitting in the chair on her side of the table, "Your fingerprints were found at the scene of Greg Mendell's murder. That simple fact is all I need to hold you."

Tamara met her eyes and Emma saw the fear she was holding back creeping through. There was something else in them though, a kind of pain.

"I'm trying to give you a chance to defend yourself, Tamara. Are you really going to go to jail without a fight?" she asked softly, her expression earnest.

Tamara swallowed thickly as she averted her gaze. "I—I did…know Greg," she said finally, her voice hoarse.

"Okay," Emma said, nodding and folding her hands on the table in front of her, "How?"

A broken sob escaped the other woman as she fought back the tears clearly pooling in her eyes. "He—he was my boyfriend," she told Emma, her voice cracking on the last word as the tears began streaming down her face.

Emma slid the box of tissues on the table over to Tamara and gave her a moment to collect herself before she continued on.

"Did you kill Greg, Tamara?" she asked softly, already knowing the answer.

Tamara shook her head vigorously, taking deep breaths through her nose in an effort to calm herself. "No. I loved him," she replied quietly as she stared blankly at the table once more.

Emma nodded, her internal lie detector confirming that she was telling the truth. "Do you have any idea who did?"

Tamara began fidgeting in her chair at the question and looking anywhere but at Emma. Emma watched as she swallowed thickly, the panic she'd seen in her eyes earlier seeping back in and pushing out the sadness almost entirely.

Emma knew she was going to lie before she even replied. Her entire being was practically screaming in fear. Whoever did this was clearly dangerous.

She waited a few more minutes in silence, hoping Tamara might change her mind. When she didn't, Emma rose wordlessly from her chair, collected her file, and knocked to exit the room.

She handed Graham the file when he met her outside the door. "It wasn't her," she told him confidently, "But she clearly knows who's responsible. It's written all over her face; she's terrified."

Graham nodded in agreement and turned to the officer by the door. "Put her in holding for an hour or two and then release her. She's not going to give us anything else."

"Wait," said Emma, stopping the officer with a raised hand and turning back to Graham, "Could we maybe put a detail on her? I'm worried that Mendell's murderer is going to think she talked while she was here and come after her."

Graham was silent for a moment as he considered her request. He nodded a moment later and met her eyes. "Yes, good thinking, _Detective_," he told her shooting her a small smile before turning to the officer beside them, "You heard the lady."

The officer nodded wordlessly and walked off to carry out his orders.

"You did good in there, Emma," Graham praised, practically beaming with pride.

Emma huffed a nervous laughed and looked at the floor bashfully. "Thanks, boss," she said finally, playfully punching his shoulder.

Graham chuckled at her uncharacteristic sheepishness and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a side hug as they strolled back toward the bullpen. "Come on, I'll pour you a cuppa. You've earned it."

* * *

><p>Graham called it a day about an hour later and had left Emma at her desk where she sat pouring over Mendell's case file (old habits and all that). She sipped on her third cup of coffee as she flipped through the pages, re-reading every piece of information for the hundredth time in search of something she might've missed. It was after seven, most of the detectives had either left for the day or were off working on their own cases, leaving Emma more or less alone in the large room. She furrowed her brow as she read over Mendell's employment history for the thousandth time, trying to figure out what was bugging her about it. The man had been a criminal for most of his life so the majority of the jobs had been at places like the docks and shipyards where they either didn't do background checks or didn't care who you were. It seemed that within the last few years, though, that Mendell had turned over a new leaf, much like his girlfriend Tamara had; three years ago he'd been working at a junk yard a few cities over and a year later he suddenly had a stable, seemingly legitimate job at French's Finds, an upscale antique shop in the northern part of the city.<p>

Emma sighed for the millionth time, at a loss as to what was bothering her. In need of a fresh set of eyes, she rose from her desk, file in hand, and made her way to the Computer Forensics department where she knew Killian still was. Her heels clicked on the tile as she entered through the open door and announced her presence to what appeared to be an empty room. Emma frowned and looked around.

"Killian?" she called, taking a slow step away from the door.

There was a sudden banging noise, followed by a muttered curse in response. Emma bit back a laugh as she walked toward it. She found Killian beneath someone's desk tangled up in wires and rubbing his head.

"Emma, I should've known," he said, raising an eyebrow in mock annoyance and carefully untangling himself from the wires.

Emma bit back an amused smile and waited patiently for him to rise. He sighed in relief when he was finally freed, running a hand through his hair as if to straighten it.

"What do you need, love?" he asked, smiling amiably, that ever-present soft look in his eyes.

"I need your eyes," she sighed, opening the file in her hands and handing it to him, "There's something about the employment history that's bothering me and I can't figure out why. I've looked it over so many times at this point the words don't make sense anymore."

Killian took the file and scanned the page, looking for the portion she'd indicated. There was a moment of silence as he read over the lines a couple of times, biting his bottom lip in concentration. Finally, he shook his head and met her eyes once more.

"I don't know, Emma, nothing seems out of the ordinary to me," he told her, scratching the space behind his ear.

Emma sighed in frustration and smoothed a hand over the top of her head. "I don't know then, maybe I'm just trying to find something that isn't there."

Killian regarded her in silence for a moment before he held up a hand. "Hold on," he instructed, walking quickly away from her and over to one of the computers in the center of the room. Emma watched as he typed furiously, stealing glances at the file from time to time. Emma stayed silent and waited for him to explain as he was clearly running some program or algorithm. He stopped typing finally and gazed impatiently at the hour glass on the screen. He bit his lip again as a window popped up and a moment later turned to her with a wide smile.

"You're right, Emma, look," he said, enthusiastically waving her over.

Confused, Emma walked over to where he stood and stooped to read the screen. "What am I looking at, Killian?"

"Keep reading," he urged, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

He'd done some kind of search on the antique shop Mendell had been working at for the last two years and this was some kind of profile. Emma sighed and skimmed the page, searching for whatever it was that had excited him so much. She reached a portion of the profile that had information from the business license and lease; her heart almost stopped when she saw the name of the owners.

"Belle French-Gold," she whispered breathlessly, straightening up and spinning toward Killian once more, her face shinning with renewed hope.

Killian smiled and nodded triumphantly. "Looks like we've got ourselves yet another victim connected to Gold."

"Yeah," Emma agreed, her mind racing as she paced around the empty office, "But for the first time ever we might have an actual witness."

Killian's eyebrow raised in surprise. "We do? Who?"

Emma smiled widely and closed the distance between them. "Tamara Cerveny, Mendell's girlfriend," she explained lowly, "I'd bet my car that she not only knows that Gold is responsible for Mendell's murder, but that she also either worked for him in the past or does now."

"Shit," Killian said simply, running another hand through his hair, "Emma, you need to get her to talk."

Emma shrugged and bit her lip. "I tried," she told him, some of the fire going out of her, "She was too afraid."

Killian shook his head then as he stalked over to her and placed both of his hands on her shoulders. "You misunderstand," he explained, earnestly holding her gaze, the heat from his palms seeping through her shirt and warming her skin, "We don't need a Detective for this one, Emma, we need a Swan."

A determined smile blossomed slowly across her face, her fire rekindled. "Let's get to work then."

**_Review (pretty please)?_**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** There's a fight scene toward the beginning that has mentions of blood and stuff (also, violence, obv~) so if you don't like that stuff, maybe skip that part? Also, there's a slight bit of M-ness at the end (just barely but still).

(Un-beta'ed)

* * *

><p>Turned out that questioning Tamara was easier said than done. In the hours following her release from police custody, she'd somehow managed to disappear (despite the protective detail). Emma had feared the worst, at first, had assumed one of Gold's lackeys had abducted her, or worse, had "taken care" of her. The police clearly had no idea that anything was amiss as the car that was supposed to be watching her was still parked outside when Emma came to check for clues at Tamara's apartment two days later. After inspecting the apartment for herself, Emma had come to the conclusion that Tamara had left of her own free will; she'd had to use her lock pick to gain access, so there was no forced entry, there was a significant gap in the midst of the clothing hanging in her closet that suggested a large amount had been hastily removed, and a trail that appeared to be caused by the wheels of a small suitcase on the carpet leading out of the bedroom.<p>

What Emma _hadn't_ found was any clues that pointed to where she might've taken refuge. She'd met Mary Margaret and Killian back at their base and shared the news. They'd discussed a few options amongst themselves and had ended up going with Killian's suggestion of running a basic facial recognition software as it was most likely to yield results in the shortest amount of time. It took longer than any of them would've liked (suggesting that either Tamara was better at hiding than any of them had assumed or that Storybrooke was bigger than they'd realized), but they'd gotten lucky and managed to pin her location down in about a day. Apparently she'd decided to take a chance and hide in plain site; she was in the Ruins, laying low in an abandoned motel down by the pier (which, coincidentally, was only a few blocks from where Gold's base was rumored to be).

Killian pulled the van to a stop and shifted the gear into park. Mary Margaret quickly exited through the passenger side, shutting the door behind her and making her way to the back of the vehicle to retrieve her bow.

"I don't like this plan," Killian confessed to the blonde still seated beside him, his voice laced with concern.

"I don't care," Emma replied insolently as she hastily pulled her hair into a ponytail, "You're staying here, Killian."

He scoffed at her response and repositioned himself so he was facing her. "Why?" he asked irritably, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Because I said so," Emma answered, her hard tone suggesting the matter was not up for discussion.

"You're not my mother, Emma, that reason isn't going to cut it," he retorted angrily, "You need back up."

"Yeah," she began, fitting her mask over her eyes, "That's why Mary Margaret is here."

Killian expelled an annoyed sigh and rolled his eyes. "Are you seriously going to try and tell me that a third set of hands wouldn't be helpful?"

There was a moment of silence as Emma considered her response, a weary sigh shaking her entire being. "I need you to be here where it's safe," she explained calmly, her gaze resolutely fixed on the clenched hands resting in her lap.

"And you think being here alone in this van is safer than being with the two of you?" he snapped, trying to catch her eyes.

"You can't defend yourself, Killian," Emma hissed, finally turning to face him, "I can't afford to be worrying about you. Not to tonight."

"I can _so_ defend myself," Killian scoffed, "It's not like I've never been in a fight before."

"Killian, please," she pleaded, her voice quavering slightly as she met his eyes earnestly, "Please, just for _once_, do what I ask and stay here."

He felt the anger leech out of him the longer he held her gaze, her deep, green eyes saying far more than her words ever could ("I can't lose you"). He sighed in defeat after a moment, briefly closing his eyes and swallowing thickly.

"As you wish," he acquiesced quietly.

Emma nodded and took a deep breath through her nose. "Thank you," she said softly, affixing a comm to her ear.

A knock on the window startled the two of them, effectively ending their conversation. Emma swiveled her head to the right at the sound and breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was Mary Margaret. Emma nodded to her friend through the closed window before silently exiting the van.

She adjusted her black motorcycle jacket as she walked to the edge of the alley where Mary Margaret was positioned, both of them sticking to the shadows.

"Everything okay in there?" Mary Margaret asked quietly, adjusting the quiver strap across her chest.

Emma sighed briefly and nodded, handing a second comm to the brunette. "Everything's fine," she mumbled.

Mary Margaret accepted the comm and stuck it in her ear. "If you say so," she conceded, knowingly eyeing her friend.

Emma ignored the woman's gaze and switched the comm in her ear on. "Testing, one-two."

_"Coming in loud and clear,"_ Killian grumbled sullenly.

Mary Margaret followed suit, silently questioning his tone by raising her eyebrow at Emma. She shook her head briefly and shot the brunette a look that said they'd discuss this later.

"How far out are we, Jones?" Emma whispered, surveying the surrounding area for possible onlookers.

"_About two blocks south of the target's last known location._"

Emma nodded wordlessly and met Mary Margaret's eyes with her own. "You ready?" she asked lowly, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

"Always," Mary Margaret answered with a soft smile.

Emma felt the tension leave her as she returned the other woman's smile and nodded once more. They parted ways, Emma emerging from the protective cover of the alley and heading in the direction Killian had indicated, and Mary Margaret climbing up a ladder on the building across the street.

Emma reached the pier in no time, carefully surveying Tamara's supposed hideout from around the corner, cursing inwardly when she noticed that the front door was blocked by debris.

"The front entrance is impassable," she muttered, craning her neck to see if she could find another way in without losing her cover.

"_So is the back_," Mary Margaret responded, "_Someone's chained the door shut_."

Emma sighed in frustration and turned away from the building, leaning against the wall beside her. "Either of you see another way in? I can't see shit from this angle."

The clicking of Killian's keyboard filled the silence as she impatiently waited for one of them to answer.

"_There's a broken window on the west side of the building, up on the fourth floor_," Mary Margaret said suddenly, "_I should be able to jump over to the roof and climb down._"

Emma grimaced and pulled away from the wall. "Any way I can access it from the ground?"

There was a pause as Mary Margaret presumably surveyed the structure. "_Not unless you can scale four stories worth of smooth concrete_," she said.

"_Emma, there's an unobstructed entrance on the eastern side,_" Killian supplied abruptly, "_You should be able to reach it without losing your cover._"

"Okay, thanks," she sighed, walking in the direction Killian indicated, "Go ahead and use that window, Mary Margaret. I'll meet you inside."

"_Aye, aye, Captain,_" Mary Margaret retorted sarcastically.

Emma huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes. "Funny," she muttered.

"_I thought so,_" Mary Margaret agreed, her breathing labored as she silently climbed her way down to the broken window.

Emma reached the eastern wall by way of a side street, using the darkness as shield; it wouldn't do to have Tamara glimpse them before they even got inside, after all. Spotting the door Killian had mentioned, she halted to observe the entrance and immediate surroundings from her cover across the street. Satisfied by the lack of obstacles, she tore suddenly from the darkness like a bullet from a gun, her eyes fixed on her destination. She made to tug open the door upon her arrival and was relieved to find it unlocked. Silently, she slipped inside, stilling momentarily as she caught her breath and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

"I'm in," she breathed, creeping cautiously down the corridor she'd ended up in.

"_Same here_," whispered Mary Margaret, "_No sign of her yet_."

"Where are you?" she asked softly, searching the few rooms off of the hallway.

"_Still upstairs_," Mary Margaret muttered quickly.

"Let me know if you spot her," Emma instructed softly as she surreptitiously continued to search the ground floor of the building.

Mary Margaret didn't respond as Emma finished her sweep and found her way to the stairs. She ascended carefully and quietly, worried all the while that the structure was going to collapse under her weight. She made it to the second floor unscathed, moving past the broken down elevators and down the corridor that lead to the first wave of rooms. All of the buildings in the Ruins had been looted shortly after the earthquake, leaving the majority of the doors wide open. She made quick work of the first few spaces, keeping her eyes and ears perked for anything that could point to their target's current location.

She was just finishing the chamber at the hall when she heard heavy footfalls almost directly above her. Holding her breath, she listened. She followed the footsteps to one by the stairs and halting.

"I think she's on the third floor," Emma whispered as the footfalls ceased, "In the room across from the elevators."

She didn't wait for a reply as she slowly made her way up her second set of stairs. She stilled halfway up, straining her ears for any and all sounds. There was a muted shuffling coming from the room she'd heard the footfalls stop in; the door was wide open, the flickering light of what appeared to be a fire spilling through the doorway. Emma stopped at the top of the stairwell and pressed herself into the wall by the door and listening. Tamara (if that indeed was her in there) didn't appear to notice that anything was amiss as the shuffling of what Emma now realized was paper continued.

Emma centered herself with a deep breath before she inched forward enough to steal a quick look through the door; Tamara Cerveny sat on a rickety, wooden chair, her back to the wall as she faced the open doorway. Her attention was blessedly focused on the fire she was attempting to light in the small trashcan before her rather than the door, giving Emma enough time to slip quietly through and into the kitchenette off of the foyer.

Emma slowly wove a path through the kitchenette and into a living area that housed an old, dirty sofa and a broken table with three legs. She tiptoed silently to the door that lead to the former bedroom Tamara was holed up in and snuck another glance at her. Her attention still seemed to be on lighting the fire until a creaking noise from the outside hall made her pause. Emma shirked back behind the cover of the wall and waited.

The room was silent for a moment as Tamara stayed still, presumably listening for anymore noises in the hall. Distantly, Emma wondered if it had been Mary Margaret or simply the oldness of the building. Praying it was the latter, she snuck another glance around the doorframe when she heard the light shuffling of Tamara's shoes on the wooden floor. The other woman had crept toward foyer that led into the outside hall, her back now to Emma. Deciding that this would most likely be her only opportunity to surprise her, she crept silently through the doorway and moved toward Tamara slowly.

She was a few mere feet away when another creak in the hall made her pause. Emma waited with bated breath as Tamara decided whether or not to make a move. Cerveny, apparently deciding that running was her best option, turned quickly toward her before Emma could move back to her hiding place. They both stood frozen as their eyes met, Tamara's brown ones widening with surprise.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked numbly as her shocked eyes swept over her quickly taking in Emma's ensemble.

Emma hastily gathered her wits and held the other woman's gaze. "I think you know," she replied simply.

Recognition flared in her eyes after a moment, causing her to unconsciously take a step back. "You—you're supposed to be a myth," Tamara stammered, eyeing Emma with caution.

"We need to talk, Tamara," Emma insisted, completely ignoring her statement.

"Talk? About what?" she asked, nervously shifting her stance.

Emma watched her closely, preparing for a fight. "About Gold," she answered shortly.

Tamara swallowed nervously, her eyes flitting around the room in search of an escape route. "What about him?"

"About how he has a tendency to off his employees," Emma explained calmly, taking a step forward, "Employees like your boyfriend, for instance."

Tamara suddenly came barreling toward her at the mention of Mendell, aiming to tackle her to the ground. Emma stepped to the side to avoid her, noticing the swing of Tamara's balled up fist aimed right at her head a second too late. Her head snapped to the side as Tamara's fist connected with her face and Emma felt her bottom lip split almost instantaneously.

"Lucky shot," she said thickly as she tongued the cut on her lip, her jaw sore from the blow.

Tamara merely glared and breathed heavily through the flared nostrils of her nose before she cried out in anger and tried her luck again. Emma blocked her punch with her forearm and shoved her arm away, knocking Tamara off balance. She pushed Tamara as she swayed, intending to knock her to the ground and subdue her, but she had other ideas. Instead of falling, Tamara twisted her body and grabbed onto the back of Emma's jacket. She struggled to stay upright, twisting her body forward in an attempt to counter the addition of Tamara's weight. Once she'd regained her footing, she turned so that her back was to the nearest wall and slammed Tamara against it.

Tamara grunted in pain and grabbed Emma's ponytail in retaliation. She yelped in surprise as her head was pulled back and then promptly thrust against the same wall. Emma stumbled away from the wall and shook her head as she tried to regain her bearings.

"Is that all you got?" Emma taunted, breathing heavily through her nose.

Tamara smirked as she got to her feet and moved to kick Emma in the gut. Emma sidestepped the move easily and retaliated by lobbing a punch at her nose. Her fist connected with the other woman's face and Emma could almost feel the bones in her nose cracking beneath the force of her hit. Tamara bent forward as she howled in pain, instinctively grabbing her now-bloody nose. Emma took the opportunity and wrapped her arm around the back of Tamara's hunched shoulders, effectively holding her in place. She then lifted her leg and slammed her knee into Tamara's gut, knocking the wind out of her. Distracted by her pain and her attempts to catch her breath, she fell to her knees.

Emma's face was still stinging and her head was throbbing as she pushed Tamara down so she lay on her stomach on the floor. Before the woman could regain her senses, Emma quickly brought both of her arms behind her back and handcuffed them there.

"Guys, I've got her," she mumbled wearily, "Some help would not go unappreciated."

"_I'm on my way Emma,_" Mary Margaret said breathlessly in her ear suddenly.

"Fantastic," Emma sighed, pulling Tamara up from the floor and directing her back to the chair she'd been in earlier.

"_Are you alright, Emma?_" came Killian's concerned voice, "_That encounter sounded a bit more…painful than usual._"

Emma rubbed the sore spot on her head as she gave herself a moment to catch her breath. "I'm fine, Jones. It's nothing a few fingers of single malt won't fix."

She heard him sigh in response, as footsteps echoed into the room from the outside hall.

"Hey," greeted a breathless Mary Margaret as she practically ran into the room.

"Don't 'hey' me, where the hell were you?" Emma exclaimed, shooting her friend a look of exasperation.

Mary Margaret sighed and made her way over to Emma's side of the room. "The stairs are impassable up there so I had to go back out the window I came in through and find that door Jones told you about. Sorry."

"Sure, sure," said Emma, huffing in mock annoyance and waving her over, "Okay, us girls here are going to have a little chat and _your_ job is to make sure she stays in this chair."

"Yes, ma'am," Mary Margaret replied facetiously as she walked over and took her place behind Tamara.

Emma ran a hand over her disheveled ponytail, giving herself a moment to recover from her tussle.

"Alright so, based solely upon your reaction, I'm going to assume that you knew about Gold's hand in Mendell murder," Emma reasoned as she paced around the room.

Tamara's lack of response reminded Emma about their chat at precinct the other day; intimidation hadn't worked on her, she was obviously too tough to let that kind of thing get to her, but being honest with her _had_.

Emma halted her pacing and turned to face her once more. "I'm going to be straight with you, Tamara," she began, crossing her arms over her chest, "I'm trying to bring down Gold. It's clear that you know more than you're willing to admit, and that's fine, it's your right. But something tells me that you're not hiding here because you're afraid of the police or of someone like me. I think you're afraid of _him_, and God knows you should be."

She stopped speaking momentarily and slowly walked closer, giving her words time to really sink in. "Just how long do you think it's going to take for him to find you? The man has endless resources. If he wanted to, he could put everything he has into looking for you. You could run, leave town, but I think we both know he'd find you eventually. Is that really how you want to live the rest of your life? Constantly looking over your shoulder, squatting in places like _this_, waking up every morning wondering 'is today the day?'…Only to end up dead anyway? That doesn't seem worth it to me."

She halted her gait a few feet from Tamara's chair and crouched so she could meet her eyes. "_Help me_. Help me, and I can help _you_; you won't have to live in fear, you can go home, and you can help me bring justice to the man responsible for the death of someone you _loved_. Please, just tell me what you know."

Silence filled the room as the minutes ticked by. Emma watched her closely, searching for even the smallest sign that she'd reached her. She was about to admit defeat when Tamara suddenly met her eyes. "Okay," she croaked softly, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Emma allowed a small smile to grace her face as she nodded in thanks and rose to a standing position. After instructing Mary Margaret to remove the cuffs, she waited patiently as Tamara collected her thoughts. She started by revealing to them that she worked for Gold and that Greg had worked for him too. She went on to tell them how she and Greg had been together for years, how they'd met at the lowest points in their respective lives, how they'd helped each other make it through. She explained that joining Gold's operation had been a blessing at first; he'd taken them in, given them jobs, helped them rebuild their lives…And then he'd asked for (no, _demanded_) repayment.

At first it had been little things, a mugging here, a carjacking there; from there it had continued to escalate and before either of them knew it, they were in so deep that the only way Gold was ever letting them out was by way of death (either at their own hands or his). That's when they'd started putting together a plan, a plan to _get out_, to _live_. It had been in the works for over a year; they'd been setting money aside, putting together new identities for themselves, hatching an escape plan. They'd been _so close_, and somehow Gold had found out. Needless to say, he'd be furious. They should've known something worse was coming when he'd let them go after a simple tongue lashing. Greg had been found dead a few days later and Tamara, suspecting she was next, had gathered whatever she'd been able to carry and fled.

"I tried to leave the city," she told them, sniffing every now and then (whether because of her bloody nose or her crying, Emma didn't know), "But his henchmen were everywhere; at the train station, on any bus that went across the city limits…That's why I'm here by the pier. I was hoping to stowaway on one of the outgoing ships. Guess that's not happening now."

Emma swallowed thickly, her mind racing. She paced the room a few times before returning to her place before Tamara. "Do you know who he sent to kill Greg?" she asked earnestly.

Tamara twisted her hands in her lap and shook her head. "No but, I know it's someone he uses often. They're some kind of knife enthusiast, whoever they are, hence the stabbings."

Emma sighed lightly in frustration and met Mary Margaret's eyes over Tamara's head.

"I think I know who might be able to tell you, though," Tamara continued suddenly.

Emma's eyes snapped back to Tamara, hope filling her once more. "Who?"

"Guy named Jefferson. He runs a bar called The Rabbit Hole. Rumor is that he knows everything there is to know about this city's underbelly," she explained, shifting in her chair restlessly, "But, he'll only meet with those that know the secret phrase."

"_Bloody hell_," Killian muttered irritably in her ear. Emma could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

"You wouldn't happen to know this phrase, would you?" she asked hopefully.

"It just so happens that I do," Tamara mumbled wearily, a tired smile gracing her face.

* * *

><p>Emma and Mary Margaret exited Tamara's hiding place fifteen minutes later, their new-found knowledge tucked safely into their mental archives (and hopefully also on Killian's hard drive as he should've been recording their entire conversation). They'd tried to convince Tamara to leave the rundown hotel in favor of some place more comfortable, but she'd insisted that she was safe where she was, at least for the moment.<p>

"Jeeze, Ems," Mary Margaret remarked as they rounded the corner where their van was parked, her eyes roving the blonde's face, "You look terrible."

Emma laughed and stopped at the back door of the van, watching as her friend removed her weaponry. "I'm sure it looks worse than it is," she assured her, wincing as the stretching of her lips caused her split lip to ache.

"You said she rammed your head into the wall, right? You should probably ice that later or something," Mary Margaret suggested, biting her lip and grimacing.

"Yeah, sure," Emma placated, knocking so Killian would open the door as it was locked from the outside.

There was a squeaking sound as the handle turned and the metal doors popped open to reveal their comrade. "Bloody hell, Emma," he groaned, his mouth falling open in shock as he jumped from the van and walked until he stood before her.

"As I was just telling Mary Margaret, _I'm fine_," she said, rolling her eyes.

She started when his hands unexpectedly cupped her face, examining her wounds with a burrowed brow as he tilted her head this way and that.

"Look me in the eyes, I want to make sure you don't have a concussion," he ordered after a moment, pulling a pen light from his pocket.

Emma huffed a quiet laugh and met his eyes. "_I'm fine, _Killian," she assured, bringing a hand to rest on his, "I've had worse, believe me."

Killian searched her eyes for a moment before sighing in resignation and nodding. "As you say," he said softly, freeing her face from his hold and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"So," Emma began after a few moments of silence, "You recorded all of that, right?"

Killian shot her a quizzical look. "Really, Swan? I find your lack of faith insulting," he replied, raising an eyebrow and turning to walk back to the van.

"As long as you don't find it disturbing," she joked, rolling her eyes and making her way to join Mary Margaret on the passenger side.

The ride back to base was silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts. It was midnight when they were finally ready to go their separate ways. Mary Margaret and Killian made Emma swear that she was going to take it easy on her day off tomorrow (the former even offering to stay the night with her just in case something happened) (it was sweet, really, having people care so much).

"Fine, I promise," she conceded, her hands finding her hips, "On the condition that the two of _you_ promise to go to that bar with me tomorrow night."

"I can't," Mary Margaret grimaced, "My parents are flying in tomorrow, remember? David and I are taking them out to dinner."

Emma pouted at the brunette and flicked her gaze to meet Killian's. "And I suppose you too have some pressing engagement?"

"Quite the contrary," he confessed, throwing her an impish smile, "It's a date."

Emma chuckled and shook her head at him. "Right. I'll pick you up at seven, Hot Stuff. Remember to dress nice, we need to blend in."

Killian scoffed and waved her off, as if the notion that he didn't always dress nice was ridiculous.

With their plans set, the three of them parted ways. Emma was trudging into her apartment ten minutes later, her exhaustion hitting her like a ton of bricks. She all but tripped out of her boots and groaned in frustration when the zipper on her jacket got stuck in the shirt underneath it. When she was finally freed from the confines of her costume, she jumped into her pajamas, crawled onto her bed and snuggled down into the nest of pillows beneath her down comforter.

* * *

><p>Emma woke up late the next day, her head throbbing as if she'd spent the night drinking rather than simply taking blows to the head. It had taken three cups of strong coffee and a few Advil to finally numb the throbbing and when five o'clock rolled around, she was right as rain. It took a half an hour for her to put herself together (she'd never been more thankful for that little black dress she kept tucked into the back of her closet) and by six-thirty she was out the door and in her bug. She pulled up outside of Killian's building with five minutes to spare and pulled out her phone. After shooting off a text to let him know she was waiting outside, she gave herself one last glance in the rearview mirror.<p>

The main door opened a few minutes later and out stepped Killian, his hair artfully tousled, dressed casually in a black, leather jacket over a midnight-blue button up and a pair of dark-washed jeans. He spotted her and ran a hand over his beard as he walked toward her car and pulled open the door.

Emma shook herself when she realized she was staring and prayed he hadn't noticed as he planted himself in the passenger seat and shut the door.

"Evening," he greeted with a smirk, pulling the seat belt across his body.

"Leather? Really?" she jeered, raising an eyebrow at him, "I told you to dress _nice_."

Killian scoffed and gripped the lapels of his jacket. "This jacket cost me a fortune, it _is_ nice."

Inwardly, Emma agreed; it _was_ (especially on him). Outwardly, she simply rolled her eyes and said nothing further as she shifted the bug into drive.

"You're looking quite lovely tonight, Swan," Killian observed, the intensity of his gaze making her skin feel like it was on fire.

Emma licked her lips nervously and shot him a look that suggested a confidence she didn't feel. "Don't I always?"

Killian chuckled lightly and gazed out the window. "Aye," he replied softly.

She stole a quick glance at him and swallowed nervously; this had been _such_ a bad idea. Being alone with Killian at work and on missions was one thing, but _this_, this was on completely different terms and _holy crap, did he look gorgeous in that leather jacket_. They spent the rest of their drive in companionable silence, pulling into the parking lot of The Rabbit Hole a little before seven-thirty.

Emma sighed and turned off the ignition before shifting to face Killian in the passenger seat. "You ready?"

"'Course," he replied, shrugging nonchalantly.

Emma nodded wordlessly, opening the car door and stepping out. Killian followed suit, meeting her at the back of the car.

"Shall we?" he asked, offering her his arm with a grin.

Emma chuckled and shook her head before lacing her right arm with his left.

The Rabbit Hole was blessedly nicer than its exterior suggested. The lowly-lit, smoky room was relatively small; cozy booths lined the crimson-colored walls and a few small, free-standing tables were scattered about the room. The bar up against the far wall was overrun with people trying to catch the bartender's attention. There was a combination of light jazz and conversation permeating the room as Killian guided Emma to a booth in one of the back corners.

"Better vantage point," he claimed, releasing her as she slid onto the padded bench.

"I'll say," she agreed, her eyes roaming the room as he slid onto the bench opposite her.

There was a moment of silence as the two of them covertly surveyed their surroundings.

"How long do you think we should wait?" Killian asked suddenly, his eyes scanning the bar across from their table.

"Half an hour, maybe," Emma suggested, returning her gaze to the man across from her. "Think you could get us a couple drinks so we can blend easier?"

Killian met her eyes and raised an eyebrow. "Drinking on the job? How very unlike you."

"We're in a bar, Jones. Don't you think it'll be suspicious to not have at least _one_ drink while we're here?" she said, rolling her eyes at him as she pulled her arms from her sweater.

"Fair point," he conceded, his gaze lingering on her now-bare arms, "So, what'll you have, then?"

"Whisky," she replied simply, shifting her arms to rest on the table.

Killian stirred and stood up from the bench. "As the lady wishes," he said, maintaining their eye contact for a moment longer as he stepped backward toward the bar.

Emma bit her lip as she watched him saunter up to the counter and lean on its edge, her eyes drinking in the sight of him. This _thing_ going on between her and Killian seemed to have hit its peak this evening and if she wasn't careful, she was liable to do something she'd regret, something that might destroy their friendship altogether. Tearing her eyes away from his back (because _goddamn, did his ass look great in those jeans_), she closed her eyes and took a few calming breaths, reminding herself that they were here to do a job.

She'd regained a bit more control over herself by the time he returned, drinks in hand, a devastating smile on his annoyingly handsome face. They spent the next twenty minutes nursing their drinks and chatting idly, all the while keeping a close watch on their surroundings. They shared a look when the crowd at the bar began to thin; Killian raising his eyebrow in question, Emma nodding in response.

"Let me handle this," she told him quietly as she wandered over and casually leaned on the counter, Killian trailing behind her.

It didn't take long for the bartender to notice her. He ambled over, leering all the while. Pushing back the cringe that threated to emerge, she quickly flashed a charming smile at him.

"What can I get for you, sweetheart?" he rasped, leaning toward her over the counter and shooting her a smile that she assumed was meant to be seductive.

Emma smiled and bit her lip coyly as she reached over to lightly touch his arm. "I actually just have a question."

"Ask away," he breathed, his eyes roving over her face and coming to rest on her mouth.

"Alright," she began softly, sobering suddenly and looking him dead in the eye, "Why is raven like a writing-desk?"

The lewd smile dropped from his face almost immediately upon her words. After simply staring at one another for a moment, he swallowed and stepped back.

"Wait here," he instructed, running a hand over his semi-bald head as he walked quickly away from Emma's side of the bar and through a mirror-plated door that led to the back room.

Emma shuddered the second he was out of sight; she felt like she needed another shower. She heard chuckling to her left and shot Killian a glare.

"Shut up," she grumbled, running a hand through her hair.

"I didn't say a word," he snickered, holding up his hands in supplication.

Emma crossed her arms over her chest petulantly and continued to glare at him. "You laughed."

"Yes well, it's always quite amusing watching men make arses of themselves in your midst," he admitted, suddenly tilting his head. "Strangely it also fills me with pride."

She smiled and bit back the laugh that threatened to escape her. "Pride? _Really?_" she asked, her nose crinkling.

"Aye," he chuckled softly, scratching behind his ear and meeting her eyes, "You're a hell of a woman, lass."

Emma averted her gaze as she felt herself flush. "You're not so bad yourself, Jones," she muttered, staring resolutely at the faux wooden surface of the bar.

She didn't look at him, she _couldn't_ because he probably had _that _expression on his face, the one that made her heart feel like it was going to explode from her chest, and she just couldn't deal with that right now.

Thankfully she didn't have to as their friendly neighborhood bartender returned before Killian could respond to her confession.

"Follow me," he demanded flatly, leading them to the counter's hatch and through the door he'd disappeared through.

The bartender escorted them to an all-white sitting room with nothing but two identical sofas and an unlit fireplace. He instructed them to "wait there" and exited through another door (this one red and dotted white with a golden border). They sat on the couch and waited in silence, afraid to speak lest this "Jefferson" have some means of recording his guests. After an indeterminable amount of time, the red door opened once more and a tall, brunette man (hair impeccably styled) stepped into the room. He was dressed somewhat oddly, the patterns on his shirt and waistcoat clashing horribly, a dark grey scarf fixed around his neck. Despite his strange choice in clothing patterns, he was clearly very wealthy.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked calmly, an eerie smile on his face.

Emma eyed him suspiciously. "You're Jefferson?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I am," he replied, sitting himself on the couch across from them and patiently waiting for them to speak their piece.

Emma met Killian's gaze and raised her eyebrow in question. He shrugged in response and turned to look at Jefferson once more. "We're here for information," he explained, crossing his arms and leaning into the back of the couch.

Jefferson nodded thoughtfully and crossed his legs. "And what makes you think I have the information you seek?"

"A reliable source," Emma said firmly, almost daring him to question her.

Jefferson sniffed out a laugh and shifted his eyes to her, studying her for a moment. "Alright, let's assume your source is correct. What makes you think I'll share anything I know with complete strangers?"

"We're prepared to make you a deal," Killian began, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs, "You tell us what we need to know and we'll give you whatever you want."

Jefferson considered the two of them for a moment, clasping his hands thoughtfully in his lap. "Fine. Tell me what you want to know and I'll… determine whether or not I can help."

Emma took a deep breath and considered her words carefully. "We need information on Gold."

"The metal or the billionaire?" Jefferson retorted, a sly smile on his face.

Emma glared at him briefly and crossed her arms over her chest. "Which do you think, smart ass?"

He chuckled at her boldness and waggled a finger at her in mock admonishment. "Now, now, no need to resort to name calling. What about Gold exactly?"

"Anything we can use to bring him down," Killian answered resolutely.

Jefferson's head swiveled toward Killian at his statement. "You want to bring down _Gold_? Do you two have a death wish?"

"Look," Emma said, jumping to her feet, "We have a witness, one we can probably convince to testify against him. But it's not going to be enough, we need _more_, we need irrefutable proof that he's dirty."

"And you think _I_ can give you that? That I'd be willing to risk my _life_ in the process?" he asked sharply, shaking his head in exasperation.

"No one has to know where we got our information," Killian offered, rising to stand alongside Emma, "If you tell us what we need and where we can find it, there's no need to implicate you at all."

Silence filled the room as Jefferson considered their offer. He studied the both of them for a moment before sighing and running a hand over his face as he rose from the couch and walked toward the fireplace. He leaned his shoulder against the mantel and stared pensively at the floor.

"Mills and Co.," he muttered quietly, holding his position by the fireplace.

Emma's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?" she asked, taking a step toward him.

"Mills and Co.," he repeated louder, raising his eyes to meet theirs, "That's where you need to go."

"The bank?" Killian asked, confusion lacing his tone.

Jefferson nodded and pushed off the wall with a quiet sigh. "They have the most secure facility in the entire state," he explained as he began pacing the room, "What you'll need is in one of the high security safety deposit boxes. They're underground, accessible only by an elevator that needs a special key card. And that's not even the best part."

Emma and Killian anxiously watched the other man pace.

"What's the best part?" Emma asked quietly.

He stopped his pacing again and turned to face the two of them. "If, somehow, you manage to break in and swipe the elevator key card without being caught, you'll still need three keys to open a box; one from the account holder, one from the bank manager on duty, and one from the bank's owner."

Killian exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, is that all?" he asked sardonically.

Jefferson nodded wordlessly, crossing him arms across his chest.

"What do you think?" Killian asked, turning to look at Emma.

She was silent for a moment as she considered her answer. "I think we've got a lot of planning to do," she said numbly.

"Wait a moment, what's even _in_ this box of Gold's we're supposed to go through all this trouble for?" Killian asked suddenly, returning his attention to Jefferson.

Jefferson tilted his head and silently studied the two of them for a moment. "You're serious, aren't you? You'd actually risk your freedom, risk your _lives_ because of a single man," he said finally, his eyes wide with surprise.

"This is about much more than a man," Emma said vaguely, staring pensively at the floor with furrowed brows.

Jefferson studied them a moment longer before shrugging. "Fine, it's your funeral," he said, reclaiming his position on the couch, "To answer your question, I don't exactly know _what_ he keeps in the box but I _do_ know that it's important to him."

"Clearly, he wouldn't be keeping it at a place like Mills if it wasn't, would he?" Killian mocked, rolling his eyes.

"I meant important to him business-wise," said Jefferson calmly, picking imaginary lint from his slacks.

"What makes you think it has something to do with his business dealings?" Emma asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I have an informant on the inside that keeps me apprised of the activity at Mills," he explained patiently, "Apparently Gold accesses his box at least once a week. Why would he do that if it was just some personal item he wanted kept safe?"

"That's not exactly proof of your theory," she muttered, biting her lip anxiously.

"Not exactly, no, but it doesn't disprove it either," he countered, leaning into the back of the couch and clasping his hands behind his head.

"Fair enough," she sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"Let's say that we decide to do this," Killian began, returning to his seat across from Jefferson, "Even if we manage to find a way in and obtain that elevator key card, we don't have the three keys needed to open Gold's box nor do we know what number that box even _is_."

"_I_ know," Jefferson said cryptically, "I can _also_ help you acquire the keys...Well, two of them, anyway."

"Which two?" Killian asked, studying the other man with narrowed eyes.

"The two the bank has, of course," he replied, a bored expression on his face, "The informant I mentioned has access to both."

"Hold on a second," Emma interjected, rejoining Killian on the couch, "You still haven't told us what you want in exchange for all of this."

Jefferson rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking exhausted. "What I want," he began thoughtfully, "Is in box 47223."

"Great, we need to break into two boxes now?" she asked tiredly, rubbing the back of her neck.

"You'll already have the two keys from the bank so, no breaking in required," he placated, "The other key I have. I'll give it to you before you enter the building."

"If you have the account holder's key, what do you need us for?" Killian asked, tilting his head.

"He's not the account holder," Emma guessed, knowingly meeting Jefferson's eyes.

He nodded wordlessly and ran a hand through his now-mussed hair.

Killian and Emma stared at each other for a moment, engaging in one of those wordless conversations they sometimes had.

"We'll accept your deal on one condition," Emma said finally, returning her gaze to Jefferson.

"Which is?" he asked, an indifferent expression gracing his face once more.

"We want a meeting with your insider," she said, unblinkingly holding his gaze.

Jefferson considered her terms silently for a moment, pensively running a hand over his chin. "Agreed," he said finally, meeting her gaze once more. Without another word, he rose to his feet and held out his hand to her.

Emma shared a quick look with Killian again before standing and firmly grasping it, sealing their deal.

"I'll be in touch," he said tersely, releasing Emma's hand and striding over to the red door he'd entered through.

Emma let go of a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding once Jefferson left them and turned to Killian. "I need a drink," she said, trudging past him to the door that led back out into the bar.

The crowd had thinned significantly in their absence; save from the single person at the counter, everyone left seemed to have congregated at the tables in the middle of the room. Emma rifled through the bottles behind the counter upon her reentry and muttered triumphantly when she came across a mostly-full bottle of rum. She grabbed it and headed back to the booth in the corner she and Killian had been occupying earlier, opening the bottle and taking a hearty swig.

She swallowed and moaned in delight as she smacked the bottle on the table and sat down. "Holy shit is that good," she enthused, licking the remaining liquid from her lips and leaning back into the back of the booth.

Killian stared at her silently from his place at the end of the table. "We should go," he said simply.

Emma shook her head as she grasped the neck of the bottle and brought it to her lips for another mouthful. "Not just yet. Sit, have some rum. It's on the house," she said playfully, already slightly buzzed.

He sighed in defeat after a moment and sat on the bench across from her. Emma took another quick drink and slid the bottle to his side of the table. "Come on, Jones, have a drink with me," she said in mock cheerfulness, her green eyes pleading.

"It'd be my honor," he said softly, holding her eyes as he took a long, slow drink.

Emma unconsciously licked her lips, the alcohol in her system causing her vision to blur slightly and giving everything in the low-lit room a glow.

They left the bar an hour or so later, Killian at the wheel of her bug after claiming she wasn't fit to drive (which was probably true considering she'd downed at least half of that bottle of rum). It was two in the morning when they made it to her building. Killian pulled into a space and killed the engine before retrieving his phone from his jacket.

"Who are you calling?" Emma slurred tiredly (drinking on an empty stomach always seemed to make her sleepy).

"A cab," he said simply, his phone to his ear.

Cab on its way, he turned to her and sighed. "I suppose we should get you upstairs," he said, turning to open the driver's side door.

She nodded in agreement and sat up in the seat so she could reach the door handle. Killian helped her stand, reminding her to grab her discarded heels from the floor. She tripped a few times on her way to the elevator from her car, giggling incessantly. Killian steadied her when they finally reached her door as she slowly dug through her purse in search of her keys. He took pity on her after a few minutes, chuckling and snatching her bag away to continue the search himself.

Emma studied him as he rummaged, his brow furrowed in concentration. She took a step closer to him, swallowing her heart that was suddenly beating in her throat and licking her lips. He whooped quietly a minute later, pulling the battered silver key from the depths of her purse and proudly stuffing it into the lock. His smile fell slightly when he met her eyes.

"Are you alright, love?" he asked, his hands resting on her upper arms as he leaned in to study her face better in the dim light of the hallway.

"Never better," she breathed, raising her hands to grasp the lapels of his leather jacket and gazing up at him through her lashes.

She watched him gulp nervously and smiled softly. "Emma, what are you doing?" he asked softly, his voice suddenly hoarse.

She bit her bottom lip and shifted her gaze to his mouth, gripping his lapels tighter. "Shut up," she muttered as she dragged him to her by his jacket and tilted her head to meet his lips with her own.

Heat blossomed in her chest as she frantically slid her lips over his; they were warm and soft against her own. A groan rumbled through his chest a moment later as he returned her kiss, matching her fervor. Goosebumps erupted over her skin as his hands lightly caressed her arms. A moment later, one slid over her shoulder, up her neck, and tangled itself in the depths of her blonde locks, the other came to rest on her hip and pulled her flush against him. Emma gasped against his lips at the feeling of his warm, lean body against hers, the beginnings of desire coiling in her stomach. Seizing his chance, Killian slipped his tongue between her parted lips and eagerly explored her mouth. Emma moaned, releasing her grip on his jacket and plunging her fingers into his soft this hair as their tongues slid against each other.

Emma steered Killian backward until his back was against the wall beside her door as her hands slid down his neck and burrowed beneath his jacket, her fingers lightly tracing the muscles of his stomach. She pulled back slightly, her nose bumping his as her breath fanned out in quick puffs over his lips. Killian groaned again as she nipped at his bottom lip, the hand in her hair holding her to him. He inhaled sharply as she kissed her way over his chin and down his neck, her hands fisting themselves in his shirt as her hips stuttered lightly against the growing hardness in his jeans.

She was worrying a mark onto the skin over his collar bone when he growled suddenly and pulled her lips back up to his. The hand on her hip moved down over her ass as he attacked her mouth and clutched her thigh, lifting it so her leg rested on his waist, pressing their hips closer together. Emma whimpered and ran her hands up and down his chest as she met him thrust for thrust.

"_Emma_," Killian moaned breathily against her lips, untangling the hand in her hair and sliding it so he was lightly cupping her face.

The realization of what she was doing and who she was doing it _with_ hit her like a semi. Her eyes, no longer clouded with lust and rum, sprang open as she detached her mouth from his. She could feel the panic welling up inside of her as she carefully pushed him away and took a few steps back. She ran a quick hand through her hair as she fought to keep the feeling at bay (at the least until she made it inside her apartment) and warily glanced in his direction. He looked completely wrecked; his eyes were still closed, his lips were swollen, his hair was deliciously disheveled, his was breathing labored.

Emma muttered a curse and took a few steadying breaths, feeling as wrecked as Killian looked.

"I—I have to go. Goodnight, Killian," she told him hoarsely, practically breaking down her door in her haste to get inside.

He'd come back to himself halfway through her goodbye, staggering away from the wall with a dazed look in his eyes. "Emma, wait.

She shook her head frantically as she turned the knob and stumbled inside. "Goodnight," she repeated shakily as she quickly closed the door.

She let the panic take over as she clicked the lock into place and leaned heavily against the door, allowing herself to slide down to the floor. It was almost four in the morning by the time she managed to drag herself to her bed. Her last thought before she finally passed out from exhaustion, one she'd later deny having, was about how _at home_ she'd felt in his embrace.

She tossed and turned the whole night.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** I don't think I've really said this at all yet so I just wanna take a moment to thank everyone that's taken the time to read this story, everyone that's reviewed, everyone that's followed and favorited (liked, given kudos, bookmarked). Just, srsly thank you so much. I went into this assuming I was going to be the only one enjoying this story so it makes me indescribably happy that you all seem to be enjoying it too. :')

(Un-beta'ed)

...

Emma grumbled in displeasure as the sunlight filtered in from between her haphazardly shut curtains and assaulted her eyes. She winced as she rolled over to face the wall, her head aching as if she'd been hit upside it with a baseball bat. She cringed at the horrible taste in her mouth as she pulled the covers over her head to hide from the light.

_Just a few more minutes…_ she bargained, snuggling further down into the mass of pillows she usually slept on.

Her eyes popped open a second later as panic suddenly surged through her. She cursed as she desperately tried to untangle herself from the bed sheets, flinging her arm out in search of the cell phone she usually left on her bedside table. She squinted as her eyes attempted to adjust to the light and push her tangled, blonde hair out of her face with her free hand. She cursed again when she realized her cell phone wasn't in its usual place and all but tumbled from her bed and into her living room in search of her purse.

She looked for five minutes before sighing in defeat and racking her brain as she tried to recall where she'd last had it. She'd had it last night at the bar with Killian, in the car on her way home, in the hallway when she'd…Oh God, _when she'd kissed Killian_. Panic rushed through her as she groaned and raked her fingers through her hair. She'd made out with one of her best friends, with her _partner;_ what the hell was she going to do? How was she going to explain this?

_Blame the rum_, said a voice in her head. She nodded frantically in response and promptly moaned in pain, her headache suddenly a hundred times worse.

"Gotta find my purse," she mumbled to herself as she trudged toward the door and pulled it open. She checked the floor outside the door first, then around the corner just to be sure; nothing. Cursing again, she plodded toward the building's entrance hoping Killian had left it in her car. Emma shivered as she pushed open the door and stepped outside, the thin material of her pajama pants and tank top doing little to shield her from the cold autumn air.

After finding her car and locating the key (thank God for that magnetic key holder Mary Margaret had gotten her for Christmas last year), she desperately searched beneath the seats, in the glove compartment, and anywhere else her purse might fit.

"Shit," she muttered, biting her lip and giving the interior another quick glance. She shut the door and ran to the front of the bug, realizing she had yet to search her trunk. Emma sighed in relief when she lifted the door to find her purse, her shoes, _and_ her sweater. A flame of guilt flickered within her when she realized that Killian had to have hidden her things here _after_ she'd left him in the hall. Pushing the thought from her mind, she quickly grabbed her purse and shut the trunk.

Emma rummaged through her bag as she made her way back to her apartment, muttering triumphantly when she finally located her phone; nine missed calls and four texts messages. She grumbled as she shut her door behind her and bolted it, scrolling through her call log as she made her way to the couch in her living room and sat.

Eight of the missed calls and three of texts were from David and Graham (she was supposed to be at work hours ago, they must've been wondering where she was), one call from a number she didn't recognize and one text Mary Margaret had sent the night before asking how things had gone at Jefferson's bar.

Emma bit her lip as she tapped the icon by her brother's name and brought the phone to her ear; he answered after the first ring.

"_Emma? You were supposed to be in at eight, where are you? Is everything alright?_" David asked in lieu of a hello.

"I'm fine, David. My phone died and I overslept, is all," she assured him hoarsely, her throat raw and dry from her over imbibing the night before, "I'm not feeling that great though, do you mind if I use a sick day?"

There was a pause as he presumably thought her request through. "_Of course_," he replied softly, "_Do you need anything? I can stop at the pharmacy on my lunch break if you do_."

"No, really I'm fine. I think I just need to sleep it off," she said, smiling softly and sinking back into the couch, "Thank you, though."

After wishing her well and ordering her to bed, she and David hung up. She shot Graham a quick text explaining that she wasn't coming in, knowing her brother would fill him in on the rest, and exhaled deeply as she laid down sideways on the couch and curled into herself. Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to wander as sleep slowly began to reclaim her. The last thought she recalled before dropping off sends her into a fitful sleep; Killian hadn't called. He'd known where she was supposed to be and he hadn't been worried, hadn't checked in on her.

It was her own fault, she knew that, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

* * *

><p>The shrill chiming of her text message alert startled her awake about an hour later. She grumbled and entered her unlock code, her stomach dropping in disappointment when she saw that it was from Mary Margaret.<p>

**Heard you were taking a sick day. Everything okay? **

_Just a migraine,_ she lied, rising from the couch to fetch herself a much needed glass of water (or five).

**K, feel better**, said Mary Margaret's reply (which would've made Emma suspicious had she been able to think clearly).

She sent back a quick "thanks" in response, setting her phone down on the kitchen counter before throwing back another glass of water and making her way back to the couch to resume her nap.

She was awakened a couple of hours later by someone knocking on her front door. She tried to ignore it at first, hoping that they would assume she wasn't home and leave, but the knocking persisted. Emma whined as she rolled off the couch and shuffled over to answer the door. She didn't bother to look through the peep hole, simply unlocking the door and pulling it open to reveal Mary Margaret.

"Hey," her friend greeted, smiling softly and holding up a brown paper bag, "I brought you some soup from that diner you like."

"Oh, great," Emma croaked, moving over to allow her friend inside.

Mary Margaret glided into the kitchen and set the bag down on the counter before pulling a bowl from the cabinet and a spoon from the drawer. "Sit," she instructed, gesturing to the couch Emma had been occupying for most of the day.

Emma nodded slightly in response before lumbering over and dropping heavily onto the sofa.

"So," Mary Margaret began, stirring the soup she'd just pulled from Emma's microwave, "Feeling any better?"

"A little," Emma mumbled, rubbing her face tiredly, "I feel like I could sleep for a week though."

Mary Margaret hummed thoughtfully as she walked the bowl of soup over to her and held it out for her to take.

"Thanks," she said quietly, accepting the bowl and bringing it toward her, "How's everything at the station today?"

"Oh, fine," Mary Margaret replied vaguely as she sat, "Pretty quiet, actually. You picked a good day to be sick."

Emma sniffed a laugh and brought a spoonful of soup to her lips. "Good to know."

"So how'd last night go?" Mary Margaret asked abruptly, crossing her ankles and gazing at her friend thoughtfully.

"Oh," Emma began, nonchalantly bringing another spoonful of soup to her lips, "It went alright."

Mary Margaret nodded and knowingly eyed her friend. "Just 'alright,' huh? Is that why you're hung over as all hell and Killian's been moping around the prescient all day?"

Emma coughed as she choked on the mouthful of soup she'd been swallowing. She felt Mary Margaret take the bowl from her and hand her a napkin. The brunette waited patiently as she regained her composure.

"Okay, yeah, I'm hung over. That can happen when you drink on an empty stomach," she said, picking up the soup again and stirring it.

"And Killian?" Mary Margaret asked softly.

"What about him?" Emma grumbled moodily, stuffing another spoonful in her mouth.

"Come on, Emma," she heard Mary Margaret scoff, "You really think you can pull one over me? I know you two better than most and I _know_ something is wrong. What happened?"

Emma bit her lip and sighed as she rested the bowl in her lap. "We kind of…made out a little," she confessed quietly, her eyes glued to the coffee table in front of her.

"Hmm, only a little, huh?" her friend replied, amusement lacing her tone.

Emma bit back a smile and met Mary Margaret's eyes. "Yeah."

"How'd the meeting with Jefferson go? Was Tamara's intel good?" she asked, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees.

Emma nodded and silently thanked her for changing the subject. "It was. We struck a deal and he's going to get in touch ASAP."

"Good, good," she replied, rising from the couch and shucking her jacket, "I wish I could've been there but, well, you know how my parents are."

"Yeah," she said quietly, her eyes following the brunette as she wandered into the kitchen and filled two glasses with water. Silence fell between them as Mary Margaret traipsed back to the living room and handed a glass to Emma. She smiled in thanks as the other woman resumed her position on the couch and sipped her beverage.

"It was bound to happen, you know," Mary Margaret said eventually, her green eyes soft.

"What was?" Emma asked confusedly, her brow furrowed.

"You and Killian," she replied matter-of-factly, taking another sip of water.

Emma felt her body tense. "There's no 'me and Killian,' Mary Margaret," she claimed, "What happened was an accident, a one-time thing."

"Guess that explains Killian's kicked puppy impression this morning," Mary Margaret mumbled, "How exactly was it an 'accident,' though? Did you trip and _accidently_ attach your lips to his face?"

"I told you, I was _drunk_," Emma scoffed, defensively crossing her arm over her middle.

Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow. "You sure that's not just an excuse, Emma?"

"_It's not_," she insisted petulantly, averting her eyes from her friend's knowing gaze.

"Alright, whatever you say," Mary Margaret granted, rising from the sofa and returning to the kitchen to deposit her used glass in the sink. "You think you're well enough to still attend mine and David's engagement party tomorrow night?"

Emma bit her lip in contemplation; not only would her brother kill her if she missed his engagement party, but her best friend would be crushed. Whatever was going on between her and Killian was going to have to take a backseat for the night.

"Of course I'll be there," she responded, rising from the couch and walking over to her friend, "Thanks for checking on me."

"That's what friends are for, right?" Mary Margaret smiled, pulling Emma into a hug.

She nodded as Mary Margaret pulled away and moved to retrieve her jacket.

"Feel better, okay?" she said, her hand propping open the door as she half-turned to meet Emma's eyes, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Emma repeated quietly as Mary Margaret closed the door behind her.

* * *

><p>She woke early the next morning, well-rested from having slept the majority of the day before. The morning air outside was brisk as she exited her apartment with the intention of running a couple of quick errands. Emma shivered slightly as a sharp breeze greeted her and pulled the beanie on her head down over her ears. She stopped at the edge of the sidewalk and took a deep breath, the cold air filling her lungs and waking her up a bit more. She crossed the street after checking for oncoming traffic and made her way to the grocery store a few blocks over.<p>

The thrum of her boots on the linoleum floor echoed as she walked down the empty liquor aisle; it was Saturday morning, most people were still sleeping and those that weren't probably weren't buying a bottle of merlot at eight in the morning. After grabbing the largest moderately priced bottle she could find, she grabbed a basket and went about finding the other items on her list.

An hour later she was home, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and hot cup of coco warming her from the inside out. She tried distracting herself with whatever was on television this early (which wasn't much, truth be told) but her mind kept drifting back to what had happened with Killian the other night. Emma sighed and took a large sip from her mug, cradling it in her hands in an effort to warm her fingers. There were so many other things she should be focusing on right now, things like planning this heist they were apparently going to pull or figuring out how to get Gold's key off of him or worrying about whether or not she could really trust Jefferson. Her relationship with her partner should definitely _not_ be occupying her mind as much as it seemed to be, and yet she couldn't seem to stop it from going there.

Emma knew that they'd have to talk about it eventually; if nothing else, it was the only way she'd be able to get herself to refocus on what _really_ mattered. But she was afraid, afraid to know just how much her actions had changed things between them. She'd admitted to herself a long time ago that her feelings for Killian were…decidedly more than friendly. But admitting that to _him_? It was a complication that neither of them needed, especially when they were _so close_.

She sighed again, at a loss, and drained her mug before shutting the television off and rising from the sofa. She busied herself with cleaning and organizing her apartment for the remainder of the day and by the time five o'clock rolled around, the dust had been removed from any and all surfaces, her hardwood floors were swept and mopped, her laundry washed and folded, and the books on her bookshelf alphabetized by title. Emma raked her fingers through her mussed hair and wandered over to her closet to select an outfit for the party that evening.

It was a family affair so that ruled out some of her more…_thrilling_ outfits and there was probably going to be a lot of standing so comfortable shoes were definitely a must. Eventually, she settled on an emerald green dress that fell just above her knees and a pair of her favorite black pumps. Her attire selected, she made her way to the bathroom to wash off the day and ready herself for the night.

* * *

><p>Anxiety knotted in her stomach as she pulled her yellow bug into an empty spot around the corner from David and Mary Margaret's building. After mentally slapping herself for behaving so ridiculously, she took a steadying breath, grabbed the bottle of wine she'd bought that morning, and pulled herself from the safety of her car. She combed her fingers nervously through her curls as she walked up the steps and pulled open the door to the lobby. Emma smiled shakily at the familiar security guard at the desk and made her way to the elevator.<p>

The door to her brother's apartment was looming before her only minutes later as she took one more deep breath and reminded herself that tonight was not about her. She forced a smile onto her lips and rang the doorbell, cradling the bottle of wine in the crook of her arm. The door opened a few seconds later and her forced smile turned genuine when her eyes met her brother's.

"Emma, you're here," David cried, quickly pulling his little sister into a hug and cradling the back of her head with hand, "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, don't worry about me, I'm fine," she replied with a soft smile, pulling back slightly from his embrace to meet his concerned gaze, "How are _you_ feeling? You're the one getting married in three months."

David released her from his hold, positively beaming at the mention of his upcoming wedding. "I'm great," he said with a smile, turning to observe his fiancé from across the room.

Emma's smile widened as she watched him, an ache of joy building in her chest; it had been a long time since she'd seen him this happy, since she'd seen him look at anyone other than her as reverently as he looked at Mary Margaret.

She shook her head a moment later as if to clear it and placed a hand on David's bicep. Emma bit back a smile as he started and abruptly returned his attention to her. "I'm going to go greet my future sister-in-law and drop this off in the kitchen," she told him, holding the bottle of wine by the neck for her brother to see and slipping off her jacket.

David nodded as he took the jacket from her and hung it on a hook by the door. He then wound an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "I'm really glad you're here," he said quietly, a sad smile replacing his joyful one.

"Me too," Emma said, swallowing thickly and meeting his eyes, acknowledging his unspoken wish that their mother could be too.

David squeezed her shoulder in reply and released her, steadying himself with a deep breath as she shot him a parting smile and walked in the direction of the kitchen. She exchanged quick hellos with some of the guests that she passed along the way, ignoring the disappointment that briefly flashed through her when she didn't come across Killian.

"Emma!" Mary Margaret called, waving her friend over.

Emma smiled and made her way across the room to join Mary Margaret in the kitchen.

"The lady of the hour," Emma greeted, placing the wine bottle on the counter and engulfing the brunette in a tight hug.

Mary Margaret laughed lightly and returned her hug. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better," she said knowingly as they pulled away.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world," Emma told her, smiling and releasing the other woman and gesturing to the merlot she'd brought. "I come bearing gifts."

"A gift that keeps on giving," she chuckled, widening her eyes at the size of the bottle and pointing at Emma, "You are definitely helping me with this."

Emma sniggered and leaned against the counter. "Gladly. Don't let me have too many glasses, though, I tend to make bad decisions when I drink too much."

"Haven't talked to him yet, huh?" she said, digging through a nearby drawer and pulling out a corkscrew.

Emma shook her head and pushed off the counter. "No. I think this is a conversation we should have in person," she said, licking her lips nervously as she pulled two wine glasses from the cabinet.

Mary Margaret nodded in agreement as she popped the cork from the bottle and grabbed one of the glasses in Emma's hands. "Just. Be honest with him, Emma, he deserves at least that," she implored, filling the glass in her hand and setting it on the counter.

"I know," Emma said softly, holding the other glass out for her friend to fill.

Silence permeated the room as Mary Margaret set down the bottle and picked up her own glass, swirling the liquid around a few times before taking a small sip.

"Come on," Mary Margaret said suddenly, smiling and grasping Emma's hand, "Let's say hello to my parents."

She spent the next half hour catching up with "Eva and Leo" and the hour and a half that followed mingling throughout the room. She'd been chatting amiably with Graham when she'd finally spotted him; he was on the other side of the room talking with a petite, blonde woman that Emma didn't recognize. An uninvited wave of jealousy crashed through her when the woman laughed at something he must've said and touched his arm. Emma dragged her eyes away from him and attempted to refocus her attention on Graham (who had been regaling her with one of the many amusing tales from his youth before she'd gotten distracted).

"—jumped the fence and tore a massive hole in my pants in the process," Graham told her, pausing to laugh at the memory, "I ran for at least a mile before realizing my underwear was completely on display."

Emma laughed loudly in response, attempting to compensate for missing half of his story. There was a lull in their conversation as they both took a pull from their respective beverages and Emma's eyes drifted back toward Killian before she could stop them. He was laughing at something she had said now, throwing back his head slightly and giving the room fleeting glimpses of his neck.

"Emma? Hello?" Graham asked, waving a hand in front of her and chuckling.

Emma shook her head and averted her gaze once more. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"You alright there, Nolan? I don't think I've ever seen you space out before," he said, his amusement shifting slightly into concern.

Emma laughed nervously and bit her lip. "I just have a lot on my mind tonight. Sorry."

The look on his face said that he didn't quite believe her but he made no attempt to discuss the matter further.

"I'm gonna go top this off," she told him, holding up her glass, "Talk to you later?"

Graham nodded and eyed her curiously as she smiled and made her way back to the kitchen. She managed to keep her eyes to herself along the way and sighed in relief when she found the kitchen empty. Emma downed the mouthful of wine that remained in her glass before setting it on the counter next to the bottle of merlot Mary Margaret had left there earlier. She folded her arms on the counter top and hunched over to rest her forehead on them. Relishing the silence and the break from idle conversation, she closed her eyes for a moment.

"Are you alright?" an accented female voice suddenly asked to her left.

Emma's eyes sprang open as she abruptly straightened herself and turned to address the interloper; it was the blonde Killian had been talking to. She bit back the belligerent response that threatened to escape her and smiled thinly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I think I just need some air," she said, raking a hand through her hair as she moved to exit the room.

Her eyes quickly scanned the living room when she re-entered. Seeing no sign of Killian she sighed in frustration and made her way to the door that lead to the balcony. The frigid air caressed her skin as she stepped out into the night. Emma rubbed her hands up and down her arms a few times, futilely trying to rid herself of the goosebumps that had broken out across her skin.

"Fancy meeting you here."

She started at the greeting, her head quickly swiveling toward the voice.

"Killian," she choked, watching as he took a long pull from the cigarette between his fingers, "Since when do you smoke?"

He shrugged wordlessly and slowly exhaled, causing smoke to curl toward the sky as he puffed it out from between his lips. "I don't usually. Unless I'm stressed," he claimed, shifting his gaze to her as he gestured to the beer in his hand, "Or drinking."

"Oh," she said quietly, not knowing what else to say.

"You enjoying the party, then?" he asked, closing his eyes as he took another long drag from his cigarette.

"Yeah," she said, licking her lips nervously as she took a step toward him, "You seem like you've been enjoying yourself too."

He opened his eyes at that and raised an eyebrow, flicking the half-smoked cigarette off the side of the balcony. "What, are you watching me now, Swan?"

"No," Emma lied, scoffing for added effect as she leaned against the railing a few feet away from him, "I just happened to glance over and saw you laughing with someone, that's all."

She saw his eyes narrow as he studied her in the dim light. "'That's all,' eh?"

Emma shrugged and obstinately stared at the ground to avoid meeting his eyes, knowing he'd see the truth in them.

Killian sighed tiredly and scrubbed his face with his hands. "Tell me, are we actually going to talk about this or are we just going to keep pretending like nothing happened?"

Emma bit her lip and hesitantly met his eyes. "I'm sorry," she said softly as she crossed her arms over her chest, "I was kind of drunk and you were _there_ and…It won't happen again, I promise."

A tense silence fell between them as he considered her statement. "That's what you're going with? You're blaming the alcohol?"

"Well, yeah…" she said slowly, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"Come on, Emma, did you really I was going to accept that excuse? 'It was the rum', bloody hell, lass," he grumbled, raking a hand through his hair in frustration.

"It's not an excuse when it's the truth, Killian," she retorted, be beginnings of annoyance bubbling within her.

He laughed hollowly and looked her dead in the eye. "You and I both know that's a lie."

Anger flashed through her as she rose from her place against the railing to better meet his gaze. "What do you want me to tell you, Killian? That I'm in love with you? _It was just a kiss._"

"What I _want_ is for you to be _honest_ with me," he countered, stepping closer to her and invading her space.

"I am," she whispered, her voice breaking.

He sighed and shook his head, his gaze softening. "No you're not, and you're not being honest with yourself either."

"It was a mistake, okay," she denied weakly, a part of her knowing he was right, "It meant nothing."

Her words left a bad taste on her tongue as his knowing eyes searched hers. "What_ I_ felt was far from nothing, Emma, and I know you felt it too," he whispered sadly as he took a step away from her.

Emma swallowed thickly, guilt stabbing through her for being the cause of his misery.

"How we may or may not feel about each other doesn't matter, Killian," she said softly, her tone resolute.

Killian inhaled shakily and licked his lips. "Go ahead then, enlighten me. Why doesn't it matter?" he asked despondently.

"Because we have a mission," she began, earnestly meeting his gaze, "A mission that's bigger than either of us, a mission that _has_ to come first. Our personal feelings don't matter. What _does_ is whether or not we can finish what we started."

"Our personal feelings are what started all of this in the first place. How can you say that they don't matter now?" Killian asked earnestly as he stepped toward her once more, their faces inches apart.

Emma exhaled shakily, his nearness causing her head to swim. "We are _so_ close to ending this, Killian, we cannot afford any unnecessary distractions."

He studied her silently for a moment, his too blue eyes roving her face. Realizing that he wasn't going to sway her, he nodded in defeat and leaned back a little. "Perhaps you're right," he said softly.

Emma studied him through her lashes, still wondering where they stood as silence feel between them once more. "Are—are we…okay?" she asked hesitantly after a moment.

Killian smiled sadly and met her gaze with his own. "Of course, love," he replied quietly before gesturing to the balcony door, "Shall we?"

She smiled slightly and nodded as she followed him back inside, feeling heavier despite the fact that she'd mended things with Killian.

Later as sleep alluded her, as thoughts of 'what ifs' and 'could bes' swirled around in her mind, Emma wondered if Killian had been right about her lying to herself. She wondered whether she really believed her reasoning, wondered if maybe her fear of getting hurt, of losing a friend had somehow forced her mind to concoct an excuse to keep things as they were.

So much for choosing the less distracting option.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: **Hey, so, if anyone has been anxiously awaiting an update of this story all month (lol unlikely, but I can dream~) I humbly apologize for the ridiculous delay. This month has been annoyingly busy, today is literally one of the first days I've had off in weeks lol. Anyway, if you _were_ waiting, thanks for being patient! I hope this is worth it~

(Un-beta'ed)

* * *

><p><em>FRIDAY<em>

He was beyond exhausted.

Between the late-night drinking, not getting home until three in the morning, and having an eight o'clock shift, Killian was done before the day had even begun (and that's not even counting the ridiculous amount of tossing and turning he'd endured courtesy of his…_encounter_ with Emma).

Thank God it was Friday.

He sighed as he trudged through the main doors, taking a hearty gulp of his coffee (with _two_ extra shots of espresso). Killian was worried. He hadn't known Emma Nolan long but she'd always been a bit of an open book to him. She could be a bit prickly at times but her friends and family mattered greatly to her (were her _world_, even, given the lengths she'd gone through to bring justice to her mother). He knew she cared about him, knew that she greatly valued their partnership (and not only because she'd told him so), but something just beneath the surface always seemed to make her pull away every time she sensed she was getting too close, too _attached_.

Killian understood her fear to some extent. He'd lost people he loved too (his chest constricted as Liam's face flitted through his mind); the pain had never really gone away, and he suspected it probably never would. He sighed as he sat his bag and cup down onto the surface of his desk. This thought processes was a dangerous one, he knew, and not just because it involved Emma and matters of the heart.

Their situations were actually quite a bit similar as he too had been orphaned and raised by his brother. His mother had died of cancer when he was just a lad, too young to remember her face without a photograph. She'd been the light of his father's world; he was never the same after she'd died, turning to drink and drugs to dull the pain. _He'd_ died of alcohol poisoning when Killian was twelve. He still remembers the funeral as if it were yesterday.

He thanked the universe daily that he'd still had his brother then, he doesn't know where he'd be now if he'd been carted off to some orphanage instead. Liam had been so good to him (good _for_ him), had shown him how to be strong, how to lead, how to be _kind_. Killian missed him with an ache that would never be quelled.

Oddly, he barely remembered _that_ funeral.

He'd moved to the States not long after his Liam's death, desperate to start fresh somewhere that wasn't tainted by the death of his entire family. He'd come over on a student visa, had finished secondary school, and had gone on to college. Always a wiz with computers, he used his skills to help pay for his education (jobs both legal and _questionably_ legal in nature).

He'd met Milah on one of those questionably legal jobs. Killian hadn't really dated much growing up, the horrors of his youth forcing him to mature rather quickly; there had always been something more important to do with his time, chasing girls had just never really been something that had appealed to him.

Until he'd met _her_, of course. Everything about her had captivated him; the shape and shade of her strikingly gray eyes, the curve of her smile, her wit and intellect. He'd loved it all.

Killian still partially blamed himself for what happened to her. She'd had this grudge against this businessman she _swore_ was corrupt; apparently the man (Gold) had conned her family out of their entire life savings (something that had resulted in the deaths of her parents). She'd been trying to take Gold down for _years_, had thrown everything she had at him, and _nothing_. The monster was seemingly untouchable. Seeing firsthand how much this endeavor meant to her, Killian had offered to help before he'd realized just how dangerous the man was.

It had started a few months after they'd met; they'd been hired to hack some government website and pass the information they gleaned along to a specific buyer. He'd been hesitant to accept such a difficult job of such at first, knowing that the security on a government site was going to be the best of the best (not to mention that they'd have to be _sure_ to cover their tracks), but she had convinced him. It had taken _days_, but they eventually broke through and were compensated handsomely for it.

Once Milah had realized what the two of them could accomplish _together_, her determination had only grown. She gradually became obsessed with Gold, eventually even resorting to _physically_ following him (he'd found surveillance photos she'd taken following her death). Every now and then he still wished that he'd seen the situation for what it was, that he'd tried to pull her back, tried to talk her out of it (as if he could've). Instead, he'd essentially helped her dig her own grave.

Killian can still recall (in great detail) the day he'd walked into their shared flat and found her cold, lifeless body sprawled across the sofa.

The medical examiner had declared her death an "accidental drug overdose," giving the police the excuse they needed to rule out any suspicion of a homicide; they'd closed her case almost immediately.

He _knew_ they were wrong, that they were just writing her off because they viewed her as some lowly criminal. He began digging through her things, searching for _anything_ that could tell him what she'd been mixed up in, what could've caused something like _this_ to happen to her.

The discovery of her file on Gold had connected nearly every piece of the puzzle; she had information on the man that spanned almost his entire life, had the addresses of his many businesses and homes, the locations of his many bank accounts (both legal and dirty), his entire personal history (where he'd been born, where he'd gone to school, the exact date he'd settled in Storybrooke). Amongst the seemingly random collection of information, he'd also found notes she'd made regarding some kind of code.

Code he soon realized _he'd_ written.

It didn't take long for him to figure out what she must've done, especially given what he knew about her past. She'd used his code as a framework to break into and empty one of Gold's offshore accounts. He'd felt a small flicker of pride at this discovery, realizing that because the money was dirty, there was nothing he could do to retrieve it.

Except, perhaps, eliminate the person that stole it from him.

He'd hacked into the police database that night in search of her file because he _knew_, he just knew that that was exactly what Gold had done. It took hours but eventually he broke in and located her autopsy report; cause of death: _heart failure due to an indeterminable toxin_.

As he'd suspected, she'd been murdered, _poisoned_ (and Gold had paid off the ME to say otherwise).

Killian still dreamed of her from time to time. And of his brother. Of what might've been were they still alive.

Those were the dreams that haunted him the longest.

"Jones? _Hello?_"

Killian shook himself from his slog down memory lane and focused his attention on the blonde woman talking to him (though perhaps, not the blonde he'd been hoping to see).

"Elsa, hi," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"That's Ms. Vinter to you, sailor," she joked, subtly reminding him she was his superior. She stared at him expectantly for a moment before she sighed and crossed her arms. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

"My apologies, I've got a lot on my mind," he muttered, "What were you saying?"

"I asked," she began, her tone firm, "How you're faring with that case I gave you Tuesday."

Killian cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his desk chair. "Right, of course. Um, I'm almost finished, I think. Should be by the end of the day, anyway," he responded, throwing her a quick smile.

Her face softened slightly as she studied him. "Are you alright, Killian? You look exhausted."

He huffed a laugh and nodded. "Aye, that's because I am. Don't worry about me, I'll have plenty of time to catch up on sleep this weekend."

She raised a playful eyebrow at him before turning to walk away. "Alright, fine. Quit slacking then, Jones, you've got work to do."

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, smiling and throwing up a mock salute.

Elsa smiled and shook her head as she walked away to check on the rest of her team, leaving Killian alone with his thoughts once more. The sudden ringing of his office phone momentarily halted his regression, but an hour later his mind had moved from his lost loved ones onto Emma and what had transpired the previous night.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

><p>There was a stack of pending case files on his desk he should be working on right now, especially the one he'd promised to have done by day's end.<p>

And yet there he was procrastinating.

He'd reorganized his desk drawers four times, had moved the nick knacks on the surface around twice, and had found an innumerable amount of excuses to leave his department and 'casually' walk by Emma's empty desk.

She wasn't there. _Why wasn't she there_?

His usual course of action would be to call her or perhaps send a quick text to ensure that she was, at the very least, _alive_. But after last night…

Well, he suspected that whatever her reasons were for staying home, he was likely the _last_ person she'd wish to talk to.

He'd considered asking Mary Margaret if she'd heard from her, but he knew she'd ask about Jefferson's and he wasn't so sure he was ready to talk about it with anyone but Emma just yet. Besides, her brother was the station Captain; if anything was amiss, he would certainly _not_ still be sitting in his office doing paper work.

_She's fine_, he told himself, _I'll give her the space she needs and we'll talk about what happened later_.

Perhaps easier said than done.

By lunch, he'd forced himself to focus long enough to make some headway on a few of the files on his desk, managing to finish processing two of them before his shift ended.

He sighed tiredly as he stood from his chair, raking a hand through his hair and wincing slightly as his back cracked.

"Taking off, Jones?" came a voice to his right.

His head swiveled in the direction of the voice as his unconsciously took a step back.

Mary Margaret.

"Aye," he swallowed, eyeing the brunette apprehensively.

"Have any plans? A hot date maybe?" she joked, raising an eyebrow.

Killian huffed a laugh and scratched the space behind his ear. "Sadly, no. What about you? Are your parents still in town?"

Mary Margaret nodded and shifted so she was leaning against the side of his desk. "They're staying the weekend, leaving Monday morning," she said, watching Killian shift nervously. "Speaking of which," she continued, "Our engagement party is tomorrow night. You're still coming, right?"

"Of course, I'll be there," he promised, mentally berating himself for allowing it to slip his mind.

Mary Margaret smiled and nodded. "Glad to hear it."

Silence fell between them. Killian licked his lips and averted his gaze to the floor as the urge to ask about Emma filled him once more.

"She's fine, Killian," Mary Margaret offered abruptly.

His eyes flew back to hers as if to confirm the truth of her words. "Good," he said quietly, absentmindedly biting his lip.

She nodded as she eyed him knowingly. "Alright, I guess I'll let you go. See you tomorrow night."

Killian bobbed his head and muttered, "Right, tomorrow," in response as the brunette walked away from him. He heaved a deep sigh as he processed her words.

Bloody hell, did he ever need a drink.

.

* * *

><p><em>SATURDAY<em>

Killian awoke just after noon, making good on his plan to catch up on sleep that weekend. After a strong cup of coffee and breakfast for lunch, he plopped himself down on his couch and pulled the novel he'd started reading ages ago off the coffee table.

He was startled awake three hours later by the ringing of his phone.

Deciding that he'd lounged around enough, he threw on a t-shirt, some comfortable shorts, and his running shoes and set off to clear his head with a jog.

It didn't work, but at least he felt slightly more productive than he had before.

Before long, the sun was setting and Killian realized he should probably get ready for the Blanchard-Nolan engagement party.

He'd arrived right on time, hoping to be a least a _bit_ buzzed by the time Emma decided to show up. He'd mingled a bit, chatting idly with his co-workers, getting to know some friends of the couple that didn't work at the station; an hour or so in found him pleasantly buzzed and chatting with the blonde (whose name he later recalled was 'Tink') that had accompanied Elsa. She was a flight attendant apparently, visiting Elsa during one of her layovers, and was regaling him with stories of some of her worst flights ever when Emma arrived.

He fought the urge to slap himself when he felt his throat go dry at the sight of her (was he ever a pathetic sod).

Killian started when he realized 'Tink' was still speaking to him and, not wanting to be rude, gave her as much of his attention as his mind would allow (the alcohol helped _immensely_).

He excused himself after a particularly raucous tale about a gentleman who'd tried to stuff a suitcase full of fruity contraband into an overhead compartment, willing his eyes to not look for _her_ as he made his way out to the balcony for a smoke. Killian sighed contentedly at the silence that met him outside, pulling a cigarette from the box in his back pocket and quickly lighting it; it wasn't that he didn't enjoy a good party because he _did_, he just didn't seem to be in much of a partying mood these days.

He closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply, the nicotine-laced smoke filling his lungs and calming his nerves.

_She's avoiding me_, he thought, taking another pull as he wandered over to the railing of the balcony and leaned over, shivering slightly as a cold breeze pierced the thin material of the dress shirt he'd chosen to wear.

He shouldn't be surprised, really; watching Emma Nolan deny and run away from her feelings was something he'd watched her do since the day they met. Nevertheless, it hurt. Perhaps Killian had hoped that maybe he'd be different, that he'd be the exception.

Alas, no.

The sound of the balcony doors opening withdrew him from his wallowing. He shifted his position against the railing and turned his eyes toward it.

_Emma_.

His heart stuttered in his chest at her unexpected appearance. She hadn't seen him; he allowed himself a brief moment to study her, the memory of how _good_ she'd felt pressed against him causing heat to coil suddenly throughout his body. His fingers itched to anchor themselves in her hair as the wind blew a few lose strands onto her face.

Licking his lips, he quickly shook himself and turned away from her, taking another pull from the cigarette between his fingers in an effort to appear nonchalant.

"Fancy meeting you here," he greeted, silently thanking the heavens that his voice didn't waiver.

"Killian," Emma responded, the surprise in her voice evident, "Since when do you smoke?"

He shrugged as he slowly exhaled. "I don't usually. Unless I'm stressed," he answered, forcing himself to meet her eyes and gesturing to the beer in his hand, "Or drinking."

"Oh," she said softly, shifting nervously.

They were blatantly ignoring the elephant in the room and it was killing him. He knew she needed time and space to process the _incident_ and he didn't want to push her, but the tension that was usually between them had been amplified by a thousand and he didn't know how long he'd be able to stand it.

"You enjoying the party, then?" he asked her, closing his eyes and enjoying another drag from his cigarette.

"Yeah," he heard her say, her heels clicking dully against the concrete as she stepped toward him, "You seem like you've been enjoying yourself too."

He opened his eyes and raised a brow at her before flicking the remainder of his cigarette over the railing. "What, are you watching me now, Swan?" he asked, suddenly feeling a bit defensive.

"No," she scoffed as she leaned against the railing, "I just happened to glance over and saw you laughing with someone, that's all."

Annoyance briefly flashed through him as he studied her; was she _jealous_? "'That's all,' eh?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

He watched as she shrugged and stubbornly stared at the ground and suddenly he'd had enough.

"Tell me, are we actually going to talk about this or are we just going to keep pretending like nothing happened?" he sighed, suddenly weary from the song and dance they've had going on between them since the day they met.

Emma was silent for a moment before biting her lip and cautiously meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry," she offered softly, crossing her arms over her chest defensively, "I was kind of drunk and you were _there_ and…It won't happen again, I promise."

The silence that fell between them was palpable; was she _serious_? How daft did she think he was? "That's what you're going with? You're blaming the alcohol?"

"Well, yeah…" she said, clearly confused by his reaction.

"Come on, Emma, did you really I was going to accept that excuse? 'It was the rum', bloody hell, lass," he grumbled as he raked a hand through his hair.

This woman was bloody infuriating.

"It's not an excuse when it's the truth, Killian," she claimed, her tone bordering on annoyed now.

Killian laughed hollowly and met her eyes with his own. "You and I both know that's a lie."

He could feel the anger rolling off of her as she pushed off the railing and straightened. "What do you want me to tell you, Killian? That I'm in love with you? _It was just a kiss._"

Annoyance flashed through him once again at her words; '_just a kiss_.' She either truly _did_ believe him to be a complete dolt or she was in a serious amount of denial. "What I _want_," he began, the sweet smell of her perfume invading his senses as he stepped closer to her, "is for you to be _honest_ with me."

He could practically see the war raging within her as he earnestly met her gaze.

"I am," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Killian sighed and shook his head, his gaze softening. "No you're not, and you're not being honest with yourself either."

"It was a mistake, okay," she denied stubbornly, "It meant nothing."

His heart broke for her at the obvious fear in her eyes. How could he reassure her? How could he make her _see_ that he wasn't going anywhere? "What_ I_ felt was far from nothing, Emma, and I know you felt it too," Killian whispered sadly as he took a step away from her.

If she couldn't be honest with him, with _herself_, than least _he_ could do was be honest about his own feelings and hope she would (_could_) eventually come around.

"How we may or may not feel about each other doesn't matter, Killian," Emma said suddenly, her tone firm.

He inhaled shakily and licked his lips, completely at a loss. "Go ahead then, enlighten me. Why doesn't it matter?" he asked despondently.

"Because we have a mission," she began earnestly, "A mission that's bigger than either of us, a mission that _has_ to come first. Our personal feelings don't matter. What _does_ is whether or not we can finish what we started."

"Our personal feelings are what started all of this in the first place. How can you say that they don't matter now?" Killian asked as he closed the space between them.

Emma exhaled shakily. "We are _so_ close to ending this, Killian, we cannot afford any unnecessary distractions."

Killian realized then that her fear wasn't solely about her feelings for him, but a fear that those feelings were going to keep her from focusing completely on avenging her mother. That, perhaps, was something he could understand, even if he didn't agree.

He'd waited for her this long, he could wait until this was over. He _was_ in this for the long haul, after all.

"Perhaps you're right," he said softly, nodding and taking a step back to give them both some air.

"Are—are we…okay?" Emma asked hesitantly after a moment of silence.

Killian smiled sadly and met her gaze with his own. "Of course, love," he said quietly before gesturing to the balcony door, "Shall we?"

He watched her smile in response and nod, before following him inside.

Killian stuck around long enough after that only to say his goodbyes and, once more, congratulate the happy couple.

"G'night, Captain, future Mrs. Captain," he joked, shaking David's hand and nodding to Mary Margaret, "Thank you for inviting me, this was lovely."

The two smiled brightly at one another before returning their attention to him. "Thanks so much for coming, Killian," Mary Margaret said sincerely, her left hand clasped loosely in her fiancée's right.

"This was great, we should hang out outside of work more often, Jones," David said, slurring slightly as he took another swig from the beer in his left hand.

Mary Margaret bit back a smile, meeting Killian's gaze with laughter in her eyes.

"Definitely," Killian smiled, scratching behind his ear, "Well, I'm off. Congratulations again."

Mary Margaret hugged him in thanks (his new 'mate' David settling for a mere pat on the shoulder) and said their goodbyes.

The cold, night air hit him like a brick wall when he exited the warm apartment building. Killian shivered involuntarily and buttoned the top buttons of his jacket that he usually left undone before stuffing the edges of the scarf looped around his neck into it. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stepped off the stoop, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk toward his flat, an odd mixture of cynicism and hope drifting within his head.

* * *

><p><em>SUNDAY<em>

Killian woke with the sun that morning, his internal clock seemingly indifferent to the late hour that he'd gone to bed. He groaned as the light from the window assaulted his eyes. He'd tried in vain to return to sleep, but a half an hour of tossing and turning later, he realized it was pointless and rose to begin the day.

By noon he was caffeinated, fed, showered, and seated on his sofa playing Assassin's Creed IV. He paused the game as his phone rang.

"Hello?" he asked, slightly breathless after having sprinted to the kitchen.

"_Killian, it's me_."

"Emma, hey," he greeted, surprise lacing his tone, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"_Jefferson. He texted me last night_," she said, her tone unusually stilted, "_He wants to meet tonight. You free?_"

"'Course, just tell me when and where," he said, biting his lip as he leaned over the counter.

"_Come to the usual place at seven and we'll go from there_," she instructed tersely.

"As you wish," he agreed, his brow furrowing as he considered her tone, "I'll you at seven."

"_At seven_," she confirmed in lieu of a goodbye.

Killian frowned at his phone for a moment; he'd known things would probably be tenser than usual between them for a while, but this seemed a bit much. He shrugged it off, deciding he'd see how she was later on.

* * *

><p>"You ready?" Emma asked, adjusting the holster concealed beneath her leather jacket.<p>

"Tell me again why I'm doing this instead of Mary Margaret?" Killian asked as he anxiously tugged at his jacket.

Emma sighed exasperatedly and turned to face him. "Because Jefferson knows you and we need this to go as smoothly as possible."

"Right," he responded absently as he readjusted his earpiece for the third time, "How do you two wear these stupid things all the time, they're bloody irritating."

"_Welcome to our world_," said Mary Margaret amusedly via the comms.

"Alright, so how many times are we knocking again?" he asked, studiously ignoring the brunette's comment and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.

"I'll take care of it," Emma said, throwing him a look that screamed 'this is why we make you stay in the van.'

He watched as she performed the somewhat complicated series of knocks they'd been instructed to use and waited. A moment later, there was a click that suggested the door had been unlocked.

"Let's go," Emma said lowly, turning to look at him, "Remember what we talked about."

Killian huffed in irritation and nodded. "Of course, Swan. After you."

They walked through the large, metal door into a small space that resembled a doctor's office waiting room without chairs. There was another smaller door across the way that Emma began to make her way to before she was stopped by a cool, female voice over a loudspeaker.

"_Please wait here, the Hatter will be with you shortly."_

Emma and Killian looked at each other and raised their eyebrows; this guy was something else.

They ended up waiting mere minutes before the smaller door opened and a burly gentlemen in a suit motioned wordlessly for them to follow him. He led them through a complex sequence of twists and turns before halting in front of an ornately carved wooden door and knocking twice. The door opened to reveal the man himself.

"Evening," he said simply, a Cheshire grin gracing his lips as he motioned them inside what they assumed was his office.

There was a large, white bureau plat decorated solely with a candelabra in the center of the room; one large desk chair behind it, two white arm chairs before it. The walls were covered in a brown, garishly patterned wall paper, the floor an expanse of lavish, white carpeting. There was a display case full of top hats to their left that spanned the entire wall and a large, unlit fire place in the wall to their right.

"Please, have a seat," he instructed, closing the door and moving to take the chair behind the desk.

Killian and Emma did as they were asked, seating themselves in the chairs in front of the desk.

"So, where's this insider of yours?" Emma asked, making a show of looking around the room for them.

Jefferson leaned back in his chair as his smile widened. "All in good time."

Silence fell between them and Killian shifted uneasily in his chair; this was obviously an intimidation tactic. Jefferson was trying to show them that he was the one in control.

"So, how exactly did you get my number?" Emma asked suddenly, narrowing her eyes at the man.

His smile morphed into a smirk as he studied his nails as if bored by her inquiry. "I have my ways."

"That's annoyingly vague," she countered, crossing her arms and leaning back in the chair.

Jefferson simply shrugged and smiled enigmatically, a knock on the door halting any retort.

"Enter," he called, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair.

The door opened to reveal a blond man dressed in a dark gray suit and a red tie. He nodded wordlessly to Jefferson as he entered, closing the door quietly behind him, and ambling over to stand on the left side of the desk.

"This is Victor," Jefferson explained, gesturing to the man with a flourish of his wrist.

Victor nodded to the two of them. "Pleasure," he said stoically, his hands clasped behind his back.

Emma and Killian shared a quick look before returning their attentions to the men before them.

"Right. So, you're the one that's going to help us get inside?" Killian asked, not quite knowing what else to say.

"Yes," Victor responded, nodding once more, "I have been instructed to provide assistance in any way necessary."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Emma asked, studying the blond suspiciously.

"Victor is loyal to me," Jefferson interjected, seemingly insulted at the insinuation that his man was not trustworthy, "You can trust him as much as you can trust me."

Emma raised an eyebrow at Jefferson. "Who says I trust _you_?"

Jefferson laughed at her response. "Fair enough. I probably wouldn't trust me either," he admitted, shifting in his chair so he was leaning over the surface of his desk, "Rest assured, the item I've asked you to procure is very valuable to me. As long as _I_ can trust you to retrieve it, _you_ can trust me not to double cross you."

She studied him for a moment before nodding, accepting his explanation.

"Is there anything you wish to ask Victor while you have him here?" Jefferson asked.

"I have a question," Killian said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, "If your man here has access to the boxes _and_ the keys, why can't _he_ get this item you're so desperate to have?"

A look bordering on impressed flickered across Jefferson's face as he shook his finger at Killian. "Excellent question," he said simply, "The answer is relatively simple: taking anything from a box not belonging to him would result in him losing his position and _I_, in turn, would lose my insider."

"But if this item is so important to you, isn't it worth it?" Killian maintained.

"No," he responded, his mirth suddenly gone, "It took many years to place Victor where he is. I cannot afford to lose him based purely on selfish reasons. There is far too much at stake."

"If you say so," Killian said softly, studying the men before him closely.

"Are you able to get us anything _other_ than the keys, Victor?" Emma asked, shifting slightly in her chair.

"Anything pertaining to the job, yes," he responded, "Did you have something specific in mind?"

Emma nodded and tilted her head in thought. "Blueprints. And anything you have on the security system."

"Consider it done," he said simply.

"I have another question," Killian began, stroking his beard, "Can you, perhaps, give us some idea where Gold might be keeping his key?"

The two men looked at each other momentarily before returning their attention to Killian. "Odds are it's locked up tight somewhere inside his estate," Jefferson said as he thoughtfully drummed his fingers on the surface of the desk, "But I'd check his wife's antique shop first, the security isn't as extreme."

Killian nodded and retreated into his thoughts; this job was going to be _quite_ the challenge.

* * *

><p>An hour later, they were on their way back to base. After stowing their van in its usual place, they convened in the clock tower to talk about the next steps of their plan.<p>

"Right, so. Gold's shop. Any ideas?" Emma asked, leaning against the long, glass table that Killian's numerous computers sat upon.

"We should probably case it first," Mary Margaret offered, "Tuesday morning, maybe?"

Emma nodded and shifted her gaze to Killian. "That work for you?"

"Aye. I should probably go in though, I'll need to see what type of security they've got with my own eyes," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and sighing.

"Okay," Emma acceded, planting her hands on her hips, "I'll go in with you, maybe I can figure out if there's a safe and where it might be."

"So I'm on van-sitting duty again then, huh?" Mary Margaret asked glumly, petulantly crossing her arms over her chest.

"Welcome to _my_ world," Killian teased, laughing when she threw a pencil at him in retaliation.

"Enough, _children_," Emma scolded as she bit back a smile, "Alright. Tuesday morning, maybe eight-ish? Let's meet here as always and go from there."

"Sounds like a plan," Mary Margaret said, strolling over to the corner of the room and retrieving the bag she'd brought with her. "I've gotta run, I left David alone with my parents and he'll start texting me if I'm gone too long."

Emma chuckled and shook her head. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he called as he too readied himself to leave.

A comfortable silence permeated the room as Killian quickly shut off any equipment they'd used. He was making his way to the far corner of the room to turn off the generator when he heard Emma quietly ask, "We can do this, can't we?"

He halted his movements and turned to look at her, the unaffected façade she usually wore slipping ever so slightly. She wasn't looking at him, and for a moment he thought she might've been talking to herself.

"It'll certainly be difficult," he began softly, ambling toward her at a leisurely pace before leaning beside her against the table, "But, yes, I believe we can. We _will_."

She nodded distractedly and sighed as silence fell between them once more.

He jumped slightly when he felt her head drop to rest on his shoulder a moment later, her scent filling his nostrils and causing his stomach to flip as an ache of longing lodged itself in his chest. "We're almost out of the woods," he assured gently, taking her hand and loosely lacing their fingers together, "Just keep hanging in there, Swan."


End file.
